


I Owe You

by TaylorCee591



Series: When History Repeats [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, POV Changes, Sherlock AU, Suicide Attempt, Suicide mention, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 36,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaylorCee591/pseuds/TaylorCee591
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a soldier is taken to the station after trying to kill himself on a London street and won't talk, D.I Lestrade calls upon a certain Consulting Detective who could perhaps change that. But he isn't prepared for Sherlock offering to change the man's mind about the fate he has decided for himself.  As Sherlock tries to change John's mind he finds out just what keeps John up at night, or indeed who, and finds himself changing too. </p><p>Follows season 1 and 2 loosely.</p><p>Rated as it is for suicide triggers, mentions of army experiences, allusions to attempted rape and probably John and Greg swearing. As well as a hint at Mystrade happenings. (FYI Mystrade is not the main focus of the story). </p><p>No Johnlock smut, sorry!</p><p>I have also posted this work on fanfiction dot net so don't worry if you see it there under the username TC591, it's mine!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts are posted in italics depending on which POV the writing is from and I will put this in bold square brackets.

**[Sherlock]**

"Sherlock, we have a situation."

"Sounds boring." Sherlock lay on his sofa at 221B Baker Street in his satin dressing gown and aimed his gun at the ceiling.

"Just come." Lestrade sighed.

"Um, no."  _That ceiling was asking for it._

"You'll either come or I'll arrest you."

"Arrest me?" Sherlock sat up to look at Lestrade. "Why would you arrest me? You can't arrest me."

"Yes, I can." Lestrade didn't budge. 

 _Interesting._ "On what grounds?"

Lestrade turned to walk away. "Unlicensed firearm."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  _Boring. Always so obvious. Why is the world so tedious? Nothing is going to amuse me today, especially not a so-called madman. It was an open and shut case, why would Lestrade need my help, get a psychiatrist to talk to the poor bastard. Scotland Yard spent their whole time trying to keep me away from mentally vulnerable people so why him, why now? Hmm._ Sherlock stood up from his couch and threw the gun down onto it.  _Potential._

>><<

"Right, I'm here. What do you want?" Sherlock barged into Lestrade's office and stood looking at him as he sat, feet up on the desk, halfway through a doughnut. "Oh, honestly Inspector. A doughnut? Are you trying to stick to all stereotypes this week, or just those concerning homosexual and inadequate policemen? And yes, I do mean 'inadequate' in every sense of the word viable in that sentence."

Lestrade stood up and brushed the crumbs from his clothes. "You're an arse."

"Brilliant(!) What will you deduce next?" Sherlock did not even try to hide his sarcasm and irritation.

"This way." The detective walked around his desk and as he went to exit his office he stopped and turned. "Homosexual?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Clearly not ready to talk about it yet._  "Inspector, I am bored and I am here. Do you really want me to focus my attentions on your life because I can?" He smiled that bitter 'go ahead, tempt me' smile he gave Donovan more than ten times in a minute.

"Sod it." The Inspector walked away and Sherlock sighed before following him along the corridor and to the lift. Are we _actually going to take the lift?_  Sherlock walked over to the door and opened it slightly.

"The stairs?" Lestrade looked as the lift beeped and the doors opened.

"If I were you, Inspector, I'd lead the way – those doughnuts are catching up to you." Lestrade sighed and walked towards Sherlock. He stopped in front of the man, close to his face, took a bite of his doughnut in an attempt to convince Sherlock (and himself) that the younger man hadn't won and continued up the stairs.

They reached the interrogation corridor and stopped outside room three. "Listen Sherlock," which was followed by the usual eye-roll, "no,  _really_ , Sherlock. I know I say this every time we end up in a situation where I need your help-"

"Which is always."

" _But_ … this man is in need of someone who can show him some compassion."

"So you called me? Not one of your better ideas." Sherlock scoffed and looked away.

"I didn't  _call_  you, I rang your door bell." Sherlock smirked at the man's use of facts to warn Sherlock that if he was going to play dirty then so was Lestrade. "Sherlock, the man tried to kill himself and he's shaken."

"How did he  _try?_ "

"He tried walking in front of a bus but a by-stander grabbed him out of the way. There's indications that he's tried it before in different ways."

"And the by-stander?"

"She's fine."

"Yes, I realised that she was fine, I meant who is she?"

"Some kind of registrar at St. Bart's. A Molly…" Lestrade looked in his notebook.

"Hooper." Sherlock was losing patience.  _Quickly. Very quickly_.

"Yes, how did you know that?"

"I didn't, I guessed. Can I go in now?" Lestrade hesitated. "Oh for goodness sake Lestrade, you got me here, regardless of if you called or not, and now you're wasting my time and testing my patience. Can. I. Go. In… Now?"

Lestrade just nodded and stepped aside wondering if he should start packing his desk up now.

Sherlock opened the door slightly, it let out a whimper, before stepping inside to see the most disconcerting sign he had ever seen in the dim light of the interrogation room. He looked back at Lestrade standing in the light of the offices. He just gave Sherlock a weak smile that said 'Yeah, that's why.' and he walked away.

Sherlock stood for a second taking in the sight before him.  _Shaking. Tanned. Sand blond. Military haircut. Still shaking. Leaning to one side._  The blanket wrapped around him prevented Sherlock from gaining more of an insight into the man. He needed more, as if it were a drug. He looked around the room briefly.  _Poorly lit. Dusty. Damp smell. Door creaked. Old carpet in good condition._  The man hadn't even acknowledged his existence so, as Lestrade walked back over, Sherlock took a step out of the interrogation room and, closing the door over a little, looked from the bag to the Inspector.  _Binned the rest of the doughnut then, good idea._

"Why didn't you give me any of this before I went in there?"

"I wanted you to see him before you made any deductions about his life. I wanted you to see just how low he is before you sneered at him."

"I don't  _sneer!_ " Lestade just gave him a look and an officer who was passing by laughed. "Who was that?" Lestrade opened his mouth to answer. "Actually don't tell me, I don't care, they're not important." Sherlock dipped his hands in the bag as Lestrade held it open. "Has he said anything?" He took out a wallet.  _Worn. Money; old five-pound note and loose change. Library card, donor card, bank card, ID card – all expired._ _No driver's license._ _Business card stuffed behind the donor card – psychiatrist, and a lottery ticket from two years ago. Wallet used but not recently or fully._ He put the wallet back and picked out the phone.

"No, he hasn't said a word, it's like he doesn't even know we're here." The detective watched Sherlock riffle through the wallet wondering what he could possibly see. Before Lestrade had even finished talking Sherlock had reached for the phone.

"He's in shock, I'm sure the registrar could have told you that. Even Donovan could have told you that."  _New phone, not more than three months old, new model not out longer than six months ago, new marks on the handset. Inscription on the back, 'Harry Watson, From Clara, XXX'. Scuff marks by the outlet._ Sherlock had a look in the phone itself.  _Messages, inbox – 18. No personal labels. Outbox – 2. Short answers. Internet history _–_  None. Calls, Incoming – 9, missed – 5, outgoing – 0._

"She did." Sherlock assumed he was referring to Molly. "The registrar, I mean."  _Yes._  He took out the keys.  _Three door keys. No key ring._ Then he looked at the chain.  _Identity chain. Good condition, but with a few scratches from recent wear._

"Hmm." Sherlock put everything back in the bag. "Is this everything he had on him?"

"Yes."

"Everything?"

"Yes! Why?"

"The by-stander, she didn't take anything?"

"Why would she do that?"

"Well, a vulnerable man obviously in shock and indebted to her, she may have sensed a chance and took it. Was she injured?" Sherlock locked at the Inspector.  _Bags under his eyes. Shaved this morning. Clothes in good condition except for the doughnut debris and the new stain on his right cuff. Shoes unscuffed. Hair washed and styled._

"Why would she do that? And don't start, Sherlock." Lestrade spoke with determination but keeping his voice down as the door to the interrogation room was still ajar.

"You are assuming that, because she saved a man's life, she is a good person. Probably because you thought she was sweet, innocent and a little in shock herself."

"Why shouldn't she be?"

"She deals with dead people every day she'll be hardened to it."

"She didn't look hardened to it. Mind you, he seemed fine when she came in with him but the minute we took her away he crumbled so what do I know?" 

 _Interesting._ "Not a great deal. Don't start what?"

"Deducing me, Sherlock."

"I can't help it, I look at you and I know you slept on a friend's sofa last night because she's chucked you out again, for the last time-"

"Sherlock…" Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose.

"- and I'm afraid that 'friend' of yours wants a lot more from you but you know that, that's probably why you went to his last night. But you don't want the station to know that she's done it again so they've all probably guessed why and letting them find out would confirm it. Although, I can't see why you'd be bothered if they did know."

"What… How…?" Lestrade shook his head and brought his shoulders up, not even attempting to finish a coherent sentence.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You have bags under your eyes suggesting you didn't get a very good sleep last night but you've showered and shaved, at a better standard than you'll achieve in most last-minute B&Bs around here, and I doubt that you'll get a full English at that time of the morning anywhere else but a friend's house, a friend who wants to cook or provide you breakfast at six o'clock in the morning after you've just been given you're final marching orders? That's not just a friend." Sherlock lifted Lestrade's right arm. "You should roll up your sleeves when you eat." Lestrade pulled his arm from Sherlock's grasp and rubbed at the stain. "And your clothes are almost completely new, they're not out of the packet but they're worn only once or twice before suggesting that they were someone else's who hadn't worn them in a while because they weren't his style or because they didn't fit or, the less likely, you left them there the last time you were thrown out," Lestrade was getting annoyed now, "but your shoes are completely new, they're unscuffed and the bottoms are not even touched, I saw them earlier in your office, so they're not just new, they're new on this morning, so you friend has different sized feet from you, if the clothes had been yours then you would have had left shoes there too. I don't  _try_  to see these things, I just do; they just jump out at me."

"Not every time, I've seen you searching for things."

"Yes, the less obvious things but the others just appear as if you had just said them, like that room in there, it's not a proper interrogation room, at least not any more."

"How did you know that?" Lestrade put his arms on his hips in the way he did when he was angry but too intrigued to brush him off.

"It's damp and dusty in there meaning that it doesn't get regular upkeep, if people were in and out of there all the time then there would be at least small areas that were clean from use. The poor lighting along with the fact that the carpet is old but barely worn tells me that people don't go in there a lot, not enough to replace the main bulb or wear down the thread. That and the door; it creaks so it doesn't get opened very often."

"Alright, now that you are warmed up Sherlock, what can you tell me about that man?"

"What? Why would I tell _you?_ " Sherlock looked at the Inspector confused.

"Because you're a show off, it's what you do and I let you do it. Everything you have just said I let you carry on with saying to get it out of your system but now it's about that man. When you go in there, you won't be able to help it, you'll want to impress and dazzle him but he's been through a lot and besides the fact that he's in shock and has bigger things to worry about I don't want you doing what you always do."

"Which is?" Sherlock felt a little annoyed at the sudden turning of tables. 

"Show off by telling people the bare, stinging truth regardless of situation and without thought to whether they have the strength to handle it." He gestured to the door. "And  _he_  does not have that strength. So…" Sherlock's face softened and he looked outward to the room, to the desks and people that filled it, feeling a little ashamed of the fact that he didn't think that far ahead.  _No, not ashamed... Annoyed_ , "tell  _me_  what you have noticed."

Sherlock looked down and to the sides as he spoke, looking at anything but Lestrade until the very last word. "I can't find out very much from the man himself because he's covered and not interacting but from what I could see and his effects…" He took a breath. "Retired Army medical officer, home due to an injury and psychological problems as a result, probably has bad dreams, single or at least not married, has a brother that he doesn't speak to for various reasons and not adjusting to life back here well, if at all."

"How?" Lestrade didn't even bother to end that sentence properly either.

"His haircut and dog tags say military, the tan on his face looks a bit dark for his skin tone, even under that light, so it's recent and it's not a holiday; people don't get back from a holiday then jump in front of a bus. And his wallet is full of expired cards suggesting that he's just gotten back from a long time away and hasn't had the time or hasn't bothered to renew them all yet. He's leaning to one side as if in pain but showing no discomfort as if he's used to it or has forgotten so I'm assuming some kind of injury that wasn't sustained today, and the number for a psychiatrist suggests something's going on. That and the bags under his eyes tells me he has very good reasons not to get much sleep at night. He has three keys on his key chain – two yales and one mortis – which suggests a flat and the absence of a key ring tells me he has no need to distinguish his keys from other sets, everyone has key rings eventually – they are the annoying present choice popular among family and friends, so they are most likely new keys to a new residence. Also the absence of the key ring and the number of missed calls on his phone along with the way he seldom replies to texts - in short answers and only when the person expresses a desire to go round and check on him - tells me that he's not exactly adjusting to civilian life very well and wants to be left alone. He's got enough people who worry about him, his brother is the one who gave him the phone because he wants him to stay in touch, but he can't bring himself to face them. That and the suicide attempt really suggests a very unhappy person; he hasn't even acknowledged our presence." Sherlock looked in the door at the man and saw that he hadn't moved.

_But wait._

"He's in shock, Sherlock." Lestrade answered pathetically.

"But he's not." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the man.

"He is!"

"Look." Sherlock pulled Lestrade in the door and, still watching the man, shut it loudly. _Nothing, he didn't even blink._ Lestrade put the bag down on a dusty shelf and walked towards the table. He turned to Sherlock and shrugged his shoulders. "Really  _look!_ "

Lestrade sat down gingerly and looked at him, the only lamp in the room was on the end of the table that was up against the wall opposite the door and directed towards the man's face. "What am I looking for, Sherlock?"

"He's in shock? So, a military man who is used to dodging bullets is shaking because he failed to be hit by a bus he threw himself in-?"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade went to get up but Sherlock put his hand on Lestrade's shoulder and forced him to sit back down.

"You missed one thing that I said." When Lestrade looked at Sherlock with that vacant look that seemed to have adhered itself to his face Sherlock could have screamed. "I said 'retired army medical officer' and you didn't ask where I got 'medical officer' from."

"I thought it would be on his dog tags."

Sherlock froze. "I didn't read them." Lestrade rolled his eyes.  _Hmm, I will need to remember that._  "I said medical officer because  _you_  said that he was fine until the registrar left. If it was shock he would have been into it almost instantly and not only once she had left," Lestrade motioned to talk, "yes I know, you could argue that it was to do with her being the one who saved him, yes but it wasn't. Something like that suggests there's a pre-existing relationship there, think about it, a woman who works with dead people all of the time notices a man in the street looking like death himself, she wouldn't normally see that, so why did she notice  _him?_ This time on a weekday she would have been coming back from lunch so she wasn't trying to attract him, he's depressed and wants to be left alone so he wasn't trying to attract her either; she noticed him because she knew him. I assumed medical. How else would a military man, single and been away for a long period of time know a registrar well enough to make that kind of gesture towards her when he's spent the whole time he's been back shutting people out, shutting his own brother out? Sentiment."

"So… he's not in shock?"

Sherlock sighed and grabbed the bag from the shelf to bring it closer to the light, he fished out the dog tags and handed them to Lestrade before dumping the bag on the table. "He hasn't made any effort to move the light from his face even though his head must be pretty sore at this point. Look at him." Lestrade looked up from the dog tags. "He's not shaking now." Sherlock watched him for a second. The man had stopped clutching the blanket and had let it fall as he looked forward, not  _at_  either of the men but right through them, back straight and emotion off. Sherlock looked at Lestrade as he leaned forward smirking at the Inspector's confused expression. He placed both hands on the table before gesturing with his head to the dog tags and looking back to the man. "Tell us what you know."

"Captain John Watson, seven one one two six." The sentence came out a little rasped and Sherlock assumed it was because he hadn't spoken for a while or, the more likely, he's had medical attention such as an oxygen mask, that has dried out his throat somewhat.

Lestrade looked to Sherlock. "That's what's on here… Whoa whoa, Sherlock… What's going on?"

"When she saved him, did he hit his head?"

"Yes."  _Thought as much._  Lestrade stood up and moved away from the man who was a frighteningly different picture from the man who was ushered in here. "He was knocked out for a while. But he woke up in the hospital when our boys were bringing him here."  _Medical attention then._

"Why did you jump out in front of the bus?" Sherlock tried, wondering if the man even remembered what he had attempted.

"Captain John Watson, seven one one two six." The man didn't react to Sherlock' words but Sherlock knew that that was not indicative of his knowledge on the incident, rather the level of his training.

Sherlock walked out of the room, waited for Lestrade to follow with the bag of things, then  _he_  followed the detective to the door of the small room. "He won't change, not here, he's reverted back to his training. You need to get him out of here and somewhere safe before he leaves."

"Before he leaves?" They walked back to the interrogation room but stopped a step away from the door that was still ajar.

"He thinks he's a prisoner of war, as far as I remember they didn't sit around waiting until their captors were done with them – they tried to escape. They don't even move unless-" Sherlock looked at the gap and saw the light flicker, his face showed realisation. "Oh."

"What?" Lestrade watched Sherlock, confused.

"Oh. What an idiot." Sherlock looked around the room and put his finger to his lips as he looked back to Lestrade. When he spoke again, he did so with a whisper. "How many people in this room are armed?"

Lestrade mouthed. "None." Sherlock looked at him confused. Lestrade made a gun sign and pointed to the room he had retrieved and returned the bag of effects from and to and then made a 'cut' motion to his neck. Sherlock understood what he meant.  _The only gun in the room was in Greg's office._

"That's it?" Sherlock mouthed.

Lestrade nodded unsure of why he was still whispering. Then he raised his eyebrows in question.

"Still here, freak?" Donovan slowed as she walked past.

"Shut up!" Sherlock spat in a whisper, he was trying to think of a plan. Sally looked to Lestrade who told her to shut up, albeit less harshly. "We have been talking in front of him because we didn't know, we didn't think that it could be worse, but now he knows that  _we_  know he's not in shock he'll-"

"He's _not_  in shock?" Sally said surprised, her voice at normal level.

Sherlock shot her a look.  _It's blown now_. "Everybody out now!" He shouted but nobody moved. The door to the interrogation room swung open and the man came rushing out at Sherlock with, what Sherlock could only assume was, a leg from the old wooden chair the man had been sitting on.  _Oh great, the super-soldier is with us._  And  _now_  everyone started to leave, Britain's finest running for the exit like scared children. Sherlock would have laughed at the ridiculous behaviour from trained police officers if he wasn't worried about the man knocking him out.

"Donovan get out and I don't know… call someone. Move!" Lestrade shouted at her, shooing her with his right arm, and watched as the Captain threatened Sherlock, apparently oblivious to his presence.

"Captain, listen to me, listen to me, we are not your enemies!" Sherlock was grateful for the thickness of his coat as he proceeded to defend himself against the soldier and his improvised weapon.

"Why have you captured me then?" The soldier spat.

"Captain, we haven't."

Lestrade tried in vain to get the man's attention. "Sherlock, what do I do?"

"Use your brain, Lestrade!" He ducked and spun under the man as he curled over Sherlock, he then turned on his heels to try and strike Sherlock lower down. _Whatever the man's injury was it isn't bothering him now. Inter-_  Sherlock moved his upper torso backwards, just dodging a blow.  _Interesting._

"Oh for god's sake Sherlock, now is not the time to be a clever bastard!"  _Again with the assumption that I can just turn it off. Idiot._

"Sherlock, is that your name?" The Captain lunged forward and trapped Sherlock against the wall. He was insanely strong.

"Yes, Captain. We are not your enemies! We were just-" He really struggled under the Captain's hold, which was something Sherlock was not used to. "We were just trying to find out what happened to you."

The Captain looked at Sherlock's coat. "You're not wearing a uniform and you're English. Why?"

"Because I'm not a captor. I'm a detective."  _He's asking questions._

"And what are you trying to  _detect?_ " The man bared his teeth with the last word.  _That's not army training, that's animal instinct._  He was showing Sherlock that he was the one to be feared and yet he was restraining Sherlock.  _Not injuring me._

Sherlock took a shot. He stopped struggling and just stood against the wall to see if the man would take his chance while Sherlock wasn't putting up a fight. He didn't.  _Interesting._  "I'm here to find out why you tried to kill yourself, Captain."

He loosened his grip and stood back a bit. "I… I did what?" The look on the man's face hit Sherlock like that chair leg.

"Forgive me for this, Captain." Sherlock looked at the man as he watched the scene behind him without breaking eye contact.

"For what?"

Sherlock didn't get a chance to answer as Lestrade hit the Captain on the head with the butt of his gun. The man fell and Sherlock stooped to catch him before he crashed onto the floor. "Was that what I was meant to do?" Sherlock nodded. "Why couldn't you have just said it?"

"And let him know? Come on Inspector, you must have gotten this job on some basis other than having my phone number." He sighed. "Honestly."

>><<

**[John]**

_Run Captain! Just fucking, run! John!_

John stirred from his sleep with a shout. He sat bolt upright. Well, almost. He was stopped when his right hand caught and he turned to see handcuffs.

"Tedious, I know, but you did attack me." A deep voice rang out, in his woozy state the voice almost made him feel worse.

John turned to see a man, fuzzy, sitting on the chair beside John's bed. "What?"

"The handcuffs. I wouldn't have bothered, we both know you can escape them, but Lestrade insisted."

"What makes you think that I can escape them?" John blinked and shook his head a little, trying to recalibrate it.

"So you can't? That's good to know." John just looked at the man as his whole face came into focus. "Can you see properly yet?"

John nodded and brought his left hand up to his head. "Did someone hit me?"

"Yes, but in all fairness it wasn't very hard and he could have shot you."

"Who could have shot me and why would he?" John lay back down wishing the man had shot him. _I'm not going anywhere so there's no point in straining._

"You don't remember?" The voice sounded slightly amused by that.

"Who are you?" John wasn't looking at the man but he hoped that he was waiting to take him to the gates of Hell.  _Somehow I doubt it._

"Captain John Watson of the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, recently honourably discharged following an injury sustained in the line of fire while saving another man's life. Retired Army Doctor who was shot in the shoulder and develops a limp. The man who has stared death in the face and then pointed a gun at it… What are you doing jumping in front of a bus?"

"I couldn't pull the trigger and I couldn't swallow the pills."  _Why lie about it now?_ _  
_

"But you could take that step?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Well, why that and not the others?"

John turned his head to the man. "Are you a psychiatrist because I'm a lost cause, mate. Just ask my therapist."

"I don't need to, I know everything there is to know about you just from looking at you."

"Really?" John almost laughed, looking over the man's face. The pale face seemed to be framed by the dark curls and grey coat.  _But he's dead sure of what he's saying._

"Yes Captain, I know that you are finding it hard to adjust, you have been closing people off, including your brother and that every night you wake up screaming, much like you did a few minutes ago." He hesitated. "I also know that you consider yourself even more of a failure now that you've tried three ways of committing suicide and been unsuccessful in each one."

"Wouldn't you say that?"

"No. I would take the hint… Captain," The man stood, "someone wants you alive."

Then he turned on his heels and left as John could do nothing but watch.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one I'm afraid.

**[Sherlock]**

"You want to do what?" Sherlock winced as Lestrade asked a pointless question. Sherlock just stayed silent. "Well?"

"Detective, you heard me perfectly. I will not repeat myself needlessly for your amusement." Sherlock played with his phone.

_Need to talk to you - SH_

"I just don't understand, this man tries to kill himself, gets a knock and then attacks you because of…" Lestrade sighed, "stuff I don't understand." _No surprises there then._  "And now you don't want to press charges and you want to… Adopt him?"

_Okay then, any reason? - MH_

"Adopt him? He's not a snow leopard. I was going to offer to be his roommate."

_One. John Watson – SH_

"But why?"

"Inspector, the man is depressed, he will try to kill himself again and when he does he will be alone and he will succeed. If he's with me then maybe I can help him." Sherlock saw Lestrade's face and he screwed up his own. "Help him get over his problems, not help him commit suicide! He wasn't trying to hurt me in here, he was scared, he was restraining me and he was asking questions. If you just want to hurt someone you don't restrain them, if you want to escape you don't stop to ask questions. And if you really want to kill yourself you don't look like he did when I told him that's what he tried to do."

"What did he look like?"

"Like…" Sherlock looked up from his phone to think of the right thing to say. "Like he had gone against everything he had known and stood for and all he was left with was despair and a vision of how his future would play out."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock as he gave up on a reply and exited the messages. "Well, it's up to him, I can't make him go with you."

"I know." Sherlock looked at his watch. "I wasn't really asking your permission I was just passing the time." Sherlock was bored. _Very bored.  
_

"Oh really?" Lestrade put his hand on his hips. "For what?" Just then Lestrade's phone rang and he turned a shade of white.

"Not going to answer that?" Sherlock smiled unconvincingly while looking at Lestrade and turned his phone around in his hand.

"Maybe. What are you doing?"

Sherlock went through his contacts. "Oh you know, I thought I might have a nice catch up."

"With?" Lestrade looked on not even reaching for his own phone in his coat pocket; he didn't want to ignore it but he wasn't about to answer it in front of Sherlock.

"My brother." Sherlock smiled as whatever blood was left in Lestrade's face disappeared when the busy tone ran out from Sherlock's phone. "I wonder who he could be phoning."

"Could be anyone…" He cursed himself when the phone rang off. "I imagine he's a busy man."

"Really?" Sherlock pressed the redial button. It rang. "Mycroft, how's the diet?"

_"What do you want, Sherlock?"_

"Nothing, just proving a point." He hung the phone up and looked at Lestrade.

"What?" Lestrade shrugged his shoulders and smiled just as unconvincingly as the colour tried to find his face again.

"Oh Inspector, I would love to stay and chat but I have to meet an old friend." Sherlock turned his coat collar up and smirked before starting to walk away.

"A friend?" Lestrade called after him.

"He doesn't have friends?" Donovan stopped beside Lestrade as they watched Sherlock throw the double doors open.

Lestrade's phone rang again and he turned to her. "Oh shut up, Sally!" He answered the phone as he walked away. "Hello?"

_"Gregory, was Sherlock with you just now?"_

"Yeah." He pressed the lift and thought again before heading for the stairwell.

_"Bugger."_

"See, you've already been spending too much time with me because that is exactly what I thought."

_"What's he up to now?"_

"The soldier we had in, he wants to help him. He wants to try and save the man from himself."

_"Well, that's a first. I had better watch out for him, no doubt something will go wrong. And Gregory?"_

"Yeah?" Lestrade got to the top of the stairs.

_"Don't listen to him, there's nothing wrong with the way you look."_

Lestrade smiled and they hung up the phone. Lestrade opened the door to the landing and stood at the room door looking for his security card. "Oh for god's sake!" He was going to kill Sherlock one of these days.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, sorry.

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock was leaning against the wall outside the station later that day when John emerged, cane in his right hand. "Captain."

The man turned to look at Sherlock and showed recognition on his face. "Sherlock, isn't it?" Sherlock nodded slightly. "Are you following me?"

"I tend to get like that when someone pins me up against a wall."  _  
_

The man paused. "Did you mean it to sound like that?"

"Sound like what?" Sherlock took out a packet of cigarettes and offered John one.

"Evidently not." He waved his hand. "I don't smoke." 

 _Obviously._ "Neither do I." Sherlock took one himself and held out the packet again.  _Leaning quite heavily on his cane but hasn't made any attempt to shift his weight or lean against the wall yet._

This time the man took a step towards Sherlock and then took the cigarette with a sigh. "I suppose it doesn't really matter either way." That confirmed it for Sherlock.

"Captain," He took the cigarette back from him. "I want to help you."

"What is the point in persuading me to have a cigarette if you're just going to take it back?"

"Captain, I have just moved into a flat in Baker Street and I can't manage the rent on my own." Sherlock lit his cigarette and looked the man square in the eyes as he blew smoke out.  _Still leaning to one side._

"So? You can't smoke right outside the door." The man pointed to a very obvious 'no-smoking' sign on the wall beside them.

Sherlock ignored that pointless piece of trivia. "Well I was thinking of a flat share?"  _Obviously._

"With me? But you don't even know me?" Exactly the response that Sherlock expected and he could have groaned with frustration.

"I told you in the hospital, perhaps you don't remember, I know everything there is to know about you, Captain, just by looking at you."

"Well,  _I_  don't even know you?"  _This was more like it._

"Give me half an hour in my flat to try and convince you."

"You really need to work on how you phrase things." The man let out a laugh and then looked to the side slightly confused. 

_Is he actually confused by his own laughter?_

"Half an hour and then I will leave you to your plans. What do you have to lose?" Sherlock reached out the cigarette he had withdrew from the man.

"Half an hour?" The man took it. "You think that you can change my mind about killing myself in half an hour?"

"No, I think I can persuade you to let me _try_ to change your mind about killing yourself in half an hour."  _It wouldn't take that long._

The man paused, seemingly holding his breath as he looked at Sherlock. He took a slow blink and exhaled. "Fair enough. When?"

"I have to see an old friend just now but tonight?"

"Tonight." The man gave a curt nod, looked down as he took the lighter Sherlock offered him and lit his cigarette before handing it back. "What time?"

"Six? It's 221B." The man just nodded again while inhaling. "Captain, promise me that you'll turn up… Alive?"

"I will."

"Promise."

"I promise?" The man shook his head slightly as if he was wondering why he was even going along with this.

"I don't think you will. Promise me… On your honour."

At this the man looked up, slightly irritated. "I promised didn't I?"

He was indignant at the suggestion and that was exactly what Sherlock wanted. He pushed away from the wall and walked away.

The rest was up to the Captain.


	4. Chapter 4

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock had looked everywhere. He tried the mortuary, the canteen, the lab, the roof and even the smoking area of the building car park.  _Nowhere._  Now he was really intrigued. The fact that she was hiding from him only made him more sure and determined. _Surely she should know that_. Sherlock stood in the car park. "Think!"  _If you were Molly, sweet innocent Molly who couldn't lie to anyone never mind me and you had a secret. You had something you didn't want to talk about and you knew I was coming to talk about it… Where would you hide? Somewhere that I would never find her? Ah._ Sherlock walked quickly back in the building and along the corridors until he found it. He ignored the silent 'keep out, Sherlock' sign and opened the door. There she was leaning against the counter.

"Molly." He smirked as he saw her.

"Sherlock, you can't be in here!" She straightened up and looked at the door behind him. She was going to attempt a getaway but knew that going out there would only make it easier for him to follow her.

"No, I  _shouldn't_  be in here but you left me no choice."

"I didn't think that you'd-"

"Find you?"

"No, I knew you'd figure it out but I didn't think you'd actually come in!" She gave up, pushed past him and he followed her. "You can't just walk into the ladies toilets especially a hospital!"

"Then don't hide in them, Molly." She was walking faster than she usually did.  _Angry._

"What do you want?"

Sherlock kept a step behind her, even though he could still have easily overtaken her, she was angry and was avoiding his eye contact. Even Sherlock knew that Molly was to be handled with care, especially where he was concerned, as sweet and obliging as she was she would completely shut down if pushed too far.  _Probably due to her upbringing with her- Stay focused_. "You know what I want." She swept in the door of the lab and Sherlock just caught the door before it hit him. He paused and walked in after her.  _Okay then, big secret._

"I don't even- Why did Greg bring you in on a suicide attempt? It was open and shut so why would you even be interested in it?"

"Who's Greg?" Sherlock looked at her confused and her face fell without an answer. "It wasn't just a suicide attempt, Molly, the man hit his head."

"But the paramedics said he was fine?" She leaned on the table and Sherlock wasn't about to go around that side while she was still angry.

"He was until you left." She just waited. "When he hit his head he reverted back to his army training, he thought that he was being held as a prisoner of war so he pretended to be in shock and when we figured that out he attacked me."

"Sherlock, that's not funny." He sighed, pulled his jacket off and threw it over a chair before rolling up his shirt sleeve to show her one of the defensive bruises on his arm from when the Captain hit him. "Oh my god!" She walked towards Sherlock and held out his arm. "Are you alright, is it broken, did he hurt you anywhere else?" She gave him a quick look over and stopped at his face with genuine worry.

"No. Lestrade hit him on the head and that seemed to bring him back. We took him to hospital before returning him to the station."

"Why the station?" She took a step back and Sherlock fixed his shirt sleeve.

"Because he attacked me?" She turned to walk away. "Molly, they had to take him there because of what he'd done but-"

"You said that it was because he'd hit his head, you don't know him, he wouldn't hurt anyone he's just unhappy."

"I didn't press charges Molly, he left the station half an hour ago." He pulled his coat back on.

"I'd better see if he's alright." She opened her phone.

"Leave him. He promised me that he would come to my flat later to talk."

"He did what?" Molly looked up from her phone with pure confusion. "Why did you ask him to go to your flat?"

"I want to help him?" Sherlock shrugged.  _Why else would I ask him round?_

"You want to help hi-" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Sorry, habit."

"Yes, it seems to be a nationwide habit." Sherlock sat down on a stool. "So, how do you know him?"

"Why?" She put her phone back in her pocket.

"Molly, if I am going to stop this man killing himself then I need all of the information that I can get. Because he will try it again and if I'm not there then he might succeed. He would have succeeded just the other day if it wasn't for you." Molly looked sad as she sat down opposite Sherlock. "You should be happy about that."

"How can I?" She sighed. "John and I were at medical school together, he was a little bit older and more confident, and I was… pretty much the same as I am now, actually. Shy, no confidence and in a pretty bad place. I was a soft target for the other students for whenever they needed to lash out. Anyway, I got invited through the grapevine to a party, there was a guy there… He tried to… Um." She welled up and Sherlock understood. "John was there and he stopped it. The guy started to fight with me, John saw it and… He put the guy in hospital." Sherlock smirked and so did Molly. "John protected me from that day on. He was there at three in the morning when I couldn't stop crying, he was there when I was stood up or the time my engine cut out when I was on my way to Scotland to host a talk. He picked me up and drove me all the way there, waited and drove me back. John saved my life a million times, Sherlock."

"And you saved his."

She wasn't smiling. "Maybe, but he  _took away_  my pain. I feel like I've just prolonged his."

Sherlock leaned down with his knees bent. "Molly, I'm sorry about what nearly happened to you and everything that you've been through. But, I'm not trying to prolong his pain – I want to take it away forever. Wouldn't that be the ultimate payback?" She let the tear that she had been holding roll down her cheek and nodded. "So, tell me about Captain John Watson." He sat back down on the stool near him and took in everything she had to say.

_Sister! There's always something!_


	5. Chapter 5

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock could see it. It was obvious, not to anyone else of course, but it was obvious to Sherlock. And it was the reason that he was walking home through the streets instead of getting a taxi.  _It served him right._  If Mycroft wanted to spy on Sherlock then Sherlock would give him plenty to look at.  _Oh, look! A shop window. I'll just stop to have a long… lingering… time consuming look in it._ Anyone else might not have been aware of the cameras following Sherlock's movements since he left the hospital but then again, they weren't aware his brother practically was  _the_  British Government. Just then Sherlock's mobile pinged.

_Go easy on him Sherlock. Please. – MH._

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Everyone seemed to think that Sherlock was incapable of tact and sensitivity. He was aware that the man had just tried to kill himself and not for the first time but there was no point in insulting the man by treating him like he was stupid.

Sherlock looked down the street as he continued along the pavement.  _Crossroads coming up. Bus coming towards me and a lorry going to turn onto the road in the direction that I'm walking. Might be possible if… Yes._ Sherlock pressed the traffic light he had just passed and stopped to look in another shop window. The traffic stopped and he glanced back to his left, the lorry was stuck mid-turn blocking the camera across the road that Sherlock had just crossed a few minutes before. The bus coming towards him slowed a little and eventually stopped at the bus stop. He took his chance. He wound in and out of the people getting on and off the bus along with the others just trying to walk past on the busy street and…  _Yes!_  He was in the alley.

He smirked to himself and picked up his speed as he came out of it on the other side. He had better hurry because he only had a few minutes before Mycroft gave up his search and accessed the cameras outside Baker Street. He walked quickly through the adjacent streets trying not to draw attention to himself just in case. He looked up just as a camera turned and he ducked into a doorway. He watched it in the large glass shop windows across the street with his coat collar pulled up as far as he could, in case Mycroft tried what Sherlock was doing right now, and waited until the camera spun back around. He ran along the next alleyway and, after five minutes or so, he was across the street from his flat. He ducked his head out and smiled to himself as the camera on this side of the street began to turn slowly.  _Five minutes, Mycroft is getting slow._ Sherlock ran across the street and shut the front door. He waited a few seconds then he opened the door and smirked at the camera before giving it a quick salute. He then closed the door and ran up the stairs.

His phone made a noise so he pulled it out as he heard the door downstairs click open and the familiar noise of heels on the stairs.

_I am in no mood for games, Sherlock. – M_

Sherlock sighed and ignored the idiotic text. Sherlock ignored practically all of Mycroft's texts, which were more in number recently, but even  _that_  annoyed him because hanging up on his brother was more effective in conveying his lack of interest.

"Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson appeared in the doorway. "How did that young man get on, did Lestrade drop the charges?" She did her routine of walking into the kitchen and expressing her displeasure at the sight she was met with.

"Yes. He might be popping by tonight, in case he knocks the door."

"What for?"

"He needs a flatmate and I thought I could perhaps help him." Sherlock looked around wondering if he should make an attempt at clearing up.  _Maybe later._

"I suppose I'll be answering it then since you never seem to hear it." She attempted to arrange the mess in a more condensed manner.

_You caused a traffic jam – M_

Sherlock just smirked then he got another text.

_It's not funny! – M_

Sherlock decided that text deserved a response.

_Wrong! – SH_

Sherlock suspected that he wouldn't get a reply to that.  _Excellent._  He needed to be prepared for tonight.

"Sherlock, have you eaten today?" Mrs Hudson pawed at dishes in the kitchen, clearly days old.  _Boring._ "Or this week?"

Sherlock thought about it.  _Hmm. Must have deleted it._ "No idea." He put his phone down on the table and took off his coat. He had been in this flat for just twenty-four days now and he had already decided that another day of this unbearable boredom would result in the ceiling's defacing and therefore his eviction. Not to mention the medical attention the neighbours upstairs might need with the fright the ceilings abuse might cause.  _However much the ceiling deserved it._  Sherlock picked up his violin and began to play, he needed to think about how he was going to deal with things tonight.

_Captain John Watson, seven one one two six, of the fifth Northumberland fusiliers, honourably discharged after an injury sustained in the line of fire while trying to save a fellow soldier's life. The trauma of which, and probably the shock of the return to civilian life, resulted in a heavy psychosomatic limp and the odd tremor that he doesn't let on to anyone about. The soldier who is smart enough to appear vulnerable and innocent when faced with captivity (however imagined) until he knows the whole situation, the soldier who restrains, with immense strength, while under duress instead of harming and the soldier who asks questions instead of running. The soldier who has become just a man, a sad man, who is devastated by his own sadness and actions, by his own perceived failures. Hmm. The soldier who is a man of steel in the face of danger but wakes sweating and weeping when danger isn't looking. The man who took a flat in the centre of the busiest town in England even though he can barely afford it. Is it that he needs to be in amongst the crowds because he's used to the noise and everyday battles or because he wants to be lost in those crowds like a ghost? Maybe both. And there's only one way to prove something to a man like that. Shock._

Sherlock stopped playing and turned around. Mrs Hudson wasn't there. And it was getting dark. He looked at his watch. Quarter to seven.  _Had he missed the visitor, was he late or not coming?_ Sherlock walked into his room to find what he was looking for when he heard the front door downstairs being knocked. He paused and smirked.  _Rhythmic tapping, four times – man of routine and precision. Late then. Most likely due to the effect of the cold on his leg or some stiffness after the incident._ He picked it up and walking back into the kitchen Sherlock rushed around turning all the lights off except the one by the couch. He waited in the kitchen by the wall near the front door of the flat.

"Just go upstairs, love."

 _Good old, Mrs Hudson. Finally, her assumption that I am most probably homosexual comes in handy when she decides not to escort the man up the stairs: either that or she doesn't want him to feel rushed trying to get up the stairs with his cane._   _That will have to go._  Sherlock heard the click of the stick on the stairs and the low level grunting that went with it. Sherlock took a breath and prepared himself as he aimed the gun at the height he approximated. The figure stepped in and looked towards the only light in the room. Sherlock cocked the gun. The man froze on the spot. Sherlock looked at the man's hands to see the left become perfectly steady and the right's grip on his stick loosening.  _Oh. Didn't see that coming._  John ducked on the spot letting his hand run down the cane to about half way before gripping it again then he swung it round, following in with his body, positioned it behind Sherlock's left knee and pulled it towards him a little. Sherlock's knee bent and his hand pointed the gun upwards. John then brought the cane up as he stood and used it to knock the gun from Sherlock's hand.  ** _Should_** _have thought of th-_  Sherlock's thought was cut short as his left arm was grabbed, pulled behind his back and John threw Sherlock's front up against the kitchen wall. The cane was discarded to the floor.

"Good evening, Captain."

The soldier sighed as he recognised the man's voice in the dark. "What are you playing at?" He let go of him and stood backwards.  _  
_

"I was proving a point." Sherlock turned around and fixed his shirt cuff looking over John.  _Without a limp. Hands and breathing steady. I s_ _hould look for that gun at some point._

"And what would that be?" The man stood looking at Sherlock in the dark, clearly irritated.

"That you want to live. If you wanted to die,  _truly_ wanted to die, you would have stood there and let me shoot you. Instead you defended yourself."

"It was instinct. If this had been over _there_ ," _on the front line,_ "I would have got the gun off of you and shot you before you shot me. I don't think about it, I just do it."

"Oh, I think you  _do_  think about it, Captain."

"Can you stop calling me that?"

"Why?"

"Because I am not a soldier any more."

"But you are. Everything you do, you do because you are a soldier. But you tried to pull the trigger on yourself when you weren't acting on instinct and couldn't. Even when you  _are_  acting on instinct you aren't violent, you're defensive. Every move you have pulled on me has been in an attempt to defend and restrain not to injure or kill. And when I told you what you had tried to do, to kill yourself, you were sad and worried."

"Because it didn't work."

"No. I asked you why you tried to kill yourself but I also mentioned that you failed to be hit by a bus. You weren't just sad because you feel like a failure and you're in pain."

"No?"

"No. Be honest, Captain. You were worried that you had maybe caused injury to someone on the bus during the attempt."

The Captain didn't say anything.

"See? Because you don't want to die and you don't want to make the decisions over who dies and who doesn't any more. You don't want to die but you don't want to live with what you've done, Captain."

"Stop it."

"What you were  _forced_  to do, Captain."

"Stop it!"

"Make me." Sherlock lunged forward to attack John who put his arm up to defend himself and then grunted in frustration at his action. "It might be instinct, Captain-"

"Stop calling me that." He defended himself against another blow from Sherlock as he took steps backwards into the living room of the flat. Another. And another.

"-but you feel like evil walking the streets. That's why you can't face your family or friends because you're hailed as a hero and you don't feel like one. Do you, Captain?"

"Stop calling me that!" They burled around each other as Sherlock tried to overpower John.

"While you feel like evil and hopelessly depressed. Either one of two things is happening right now…  _Captain_ ," Sherlock emphasised the word more, "either you are thinking about everything that you are doing right now while defending yourself instead of harming me."

"Or?" John leaned back to dodge a blow from Sherlock and they both paused a moment before Sherlock began to speak and swipe again.

"Or you are acting on instinct and your instincts are telling you to defend yourself and not do any harm." John stopped, thinking about what Sherlock had said and a look of shock and a little irritation crossed his face – Sherlock could only assume that's what it was in the absence of light. "Either way, those are not the actions of an evil man who wants to die. So-" John grabbed Sherlock in frustration and threw him against the wall. "When do you want to move in?"

John looked at him. "What makes you think I want to move in here? With you?"

"Because, you know I'm right and you know I can help you with this and your psychosomatic limp."

"You are  _so_  sure it's in my head… Why?"

Sherlock let out an exhaled laugh.  _Got him._ "Because you know that the minute you heard me cock the gun you wanted to live through this moment, you hand hasn't shaken since you crossed that threshold and…" Sherlock gestured his head, with some difficulty, to the floor. John turned to look at the cane on the floor then looked at his leg before hesitantly letting Sherlock go to look at his hand. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John looked up at Sherlock and after a few seconds he smiled.  _Definitely got him._ "You're the smart bastard, figure it out." John walked over to the armchair before plonking himself down. 

_Afghanistan… Maybe._


	6. Chapter 6

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock let John go through the inner turmoil of ' _What am I doing moving in with a complete stranger who has just pointed a gun at me?'_ And _'Just because I've sat down doesn't mean that I've decided anything… Nope.'_

"So… Sherlock," John hesitated before he spoke again, "you're a detective then?"

"Yes." Sherlock decided to refrain from calling the man by his rank again. Unless he had to.

"How long have you worked at Scotland Yard?"

"I don't." Sherlock waited to see if the soldier would use his brains since he had shown the extent of his brawns twice now. Sherlock wouldn't admit it but the back of his leg did smart a little. "I work  _with_  them."

"Well, I would say private detective…"

"But?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

 _Amateur?_ Sherlock paused with the unintentional insult.  _Well then – showtime._  "When you woke up in the hospital a few days ago I said I knew everything there is know about you just from looking at you."

"Yes, what did you mean by that?"  _Honestly, what else could I have meant by that?_

"When I first saw you, I could read your military career in your haircut, the bags under your eyes and the way you leaned to one side. I could read your state of mind in your wallet and phone. As well as your sister's drinking habits."

"How did you know everything about me, other than what you saw in my wallet?"

"I saw you in that room before I saw any of your personal effects, Lestrade wanted me to see how low you had fallen before I started…  _deducing you_." Sherlock grimaced at the use of Lestrade's words but he couldn't find another way to express it. "I saw from your haircut that you were in the military, no one gets a haircut like that otherwise," Sherlock didn't see that slight hurt look on John's face that was mixed with a questioning look to the detective's own mop, "and even with the poor light in that room your tan was obvious, it's only  _just_  too dark to be your skin tone."

"I could have been on holiday?"

Sherlock strained not to grunt at the attempt to stifle him.  _Why do people always do that?_ "Yes, and on your return from your holiday, on which you had no need for valid cards in your wallet, you decided to try to kill yourself because if two weeks in Magaluf won't make you happy then you may as well end it now." Sherlock did grunt that time and John cleared his throat while he took in that explanation. Sherlock may as well have just turned and told John to piss off. "The way you were leaning suggested an injury that caused you a lot of pain but you expressed no signs of feeling pain, even in shock you would have rubbed at your leg or your eyes would have twitched even slightly but you didn't even blink so either you have a very high pain threshold, which is entirely possible given your vocation-"

"Past vocation."

"-but that coupled with the number for a psychiatrist in your wallet suggests a traumatic experience surrounding the injury some time before that day, meaning you are accustomed to the pain."

"Something traumatic besides the war itself?"

"You're a soldier, of course the war will be traumatic but not something you would go to a therapist about. Not willingly. Especially when you consider how you've shut everyone out of your life and just want to be left alone. Alone to wallow in self-pity while everyone hails you a hero."

"I am not a hero!" John's hand shook and he looked at it. "I'm not…" He squeezed his fist in an attempt to steady it.

"I'm sure the family of the man's life you saved disagrees." Sherlock hesitated and looked up to John's face. "Molly disagrees." At this John's gaze shot back up to Sherlock and he stopped moving his hand.

"You spoke to Molly? Is she alright?"

"She's fine."

"She's not hurt after the fall?" John reached to pick up his cup of tea.  _With his left hand._

"She fell?" Sherlock had no knowledge of that.  _Wait, better take a second look… Nope._

"I was standing in front of a bus, how else do you think she saved me? Waved a carrot on the end of a stick?" He took a sip and breathed out a sigh of satisfaction. "What did she tell you?"  _Why, was there something that she didn't tell me?_

"She told me about what you did for her and how you've been her hero." John looked away at the last word. "What is it you find so repulsive about that label?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Captain," John told him to stop, "why don't you like it when people call you a hero? You saved that man's life, Captain," and again, "you're her hero, Captain."

John slammed his tea down, stood up and took a step towards Sherlock who was standing in the living room in front of John. "Why? Why do they label me a hero, because I saved that man's life or because I got shot doing it?" He took a breath and Sherlock wasn't sure if he actually wanted an answer to that. "Yes, that man is alive and he might not have been if I hadn't took that bullet. If I had died due to the injury I would have been hailed as having paid the ultimate price for comradery and for however many years he lived for he would have been telling his friends and family about the ' _hero_ ' that saved his life, the reason that his family were even born and the man whose face he saw every time he closed his eyes. And they would wonder about me and my family before they would thank god or whoever that I did what I did. And when they attended the ceremonies with their own real-life veteran they might even remember me; the man they never knew who is the reason that they were even born." He had started squeezing his fist the minute he had stood. Sherlock was watching and John followed his eye line before he took a step back and sat back down. He didn't bend his leg until he forced his foot backwards on the floor.  _Forcing movement so he has accepted that it's psychosomatic. That's good._ "What they won't talk about and remember and thank god for is the stuff that no one talks about. The rest of it." He sighed and picked up his tea again. "Saving one life, however precious, does not absolve me of all of the other things I did."

Just then Mrs Hudson trotted up the stairs and John reached for his leg and rubbed it.  _Maybe not so good. Getting there though._ "You can't possibly see in this light!" She walked around turning the lights on that Sherlock had turned off and picked up John's cane before leaning it on the kitchen table. John shuffled forward in his seat to look around the apartment for the first time. "Oh!" She stopped at John. "Don't worry, there's another bedroom up the stairs if you'll be needing two?" She turned to Sherlock who just turned away trying not to smirk.

"Well, of course we'll be needing two?"  _Ah. Moving in then… And a little sensitive about his sexuality._

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock?" She gestured to the paper on the small table beside the armchair and John picked it up to look at the headline. "I thought they'd be right up your street." She nudged John. "Sorry love." He just looked forward with a 'that just happened' look that Sherlock considered that might be one of his favourites. "Three exactly the same."

Sherlock looked out his window and saw the police car pull up. "Four. There's been a fourth."

"Four?" Mrs Hudson reacted to the noise of someone at the front door down the stairs and she tottered away to answer it.

"Four?" John put the paper back and looked at Sherlock.

"That's Lestrade downstairs."

"So?"

Sherlock didn't answer and just waited for the Inspector to bound up the stairs. "Where?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." He took a couple of steps into the room, looking at Sherlock.

"What's different?"

"This one left a note." Sherlock moved his head in thought.  _Potential._ "Will you come to the scene?"

"Who's on forensics?" Lestrade hesitated and Sherlock grunted. "Anderson won't work with me."

"He wouldn't be your assistant?"

"I  _need_  one!" Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away from the Inspector.

"Are you coming or not?"

"Not in a police car, I'll make my own way."

"Right." Lestrade turned his head to nod at John and Mrs Hudson before disappearing back down the stairs.

Sherlock turned and smiled to John. "What?"

"A case! Four suicides exactly the same, it's like Christmas." He burled around to pick up his coat but followed the burl through to stop facing John and Mrs Hudson again.

"Look at you all happy, it's not decent." She turned and walked back down the stairs.

"Oh, who cares about decent; there's finally something fun going on!"

"Well that's not inappropriate." John grabbed the paper again and rubbed his leg.

"Coming?"

John looked up at Sherlock. "Me?"

"No, Mrs Hudson. Of course you." Sherlock pulled his gloves on and smiled unconvincingly.

"Why?" John stood.  _Why? Oh come on…_

"Well you're a doctor. In fact, you're an army doctor. So, I'm assuming you're good under pressure and used to violent deaths?"

John nodded and caught it in his throat. Whatever 'it' was it stuck. "Yes."

"Seen some trouble too, I'll bet?"

"Yes. Too much." John looked down before meeting Sherlock's eyes again.

"Want to see some more?"

"Oh god, yes."  _Thought so._

Sherlock smirked and turned on the spot.  _I wonder._ He trotted down the stairs and opened the door. When they reached the pavement Sherlock put his hands out for a passing taxi and they clambered inside. Sherlock got in first so that when he sat he could look without attracting John's attention to it. 

_No cane. Excellent. Amateur, indeed._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one I'm afraid. I would like to say it's short to emphasise Sherlock's quick deduction of the case and immediate disinterest in the aftermath but the truth is it's just short.

**[Sherlock]**

As it was, the potentially interesting suicides turned out to be the work of a serial killer.  _Dull._  Sherlock had realised that since the fourth victim's case was not at the scene then the killer had to have driven her to the crime scene and forgotten he had left it in the car. Once Sherlock also realised that the case had to be pink -  _Well, it had to pink obviously_ \- it took less than an hour for the detective to find the case in a nearby skip where the driver had discarded it to avoid drawing attention to himself. While out trying to catch the killer who had replied to a text John had sent to the victim's phone which was missing from her person and case, the two men had ended up in a rather fortuitous situation which led to them running and roof-hopping through the streets of London after a potential suspect – John kept up all the way seemingly unaware that he was still without his cane.  _Excellent._  When they returned Lestrade had broken into Sherlock's flat under the pretence of a drug's bust to assert his imagined authority in the matter and Sherlock had realised that the fourth victim had been leading them to the man who had killed her. The man who, chance would have it, rang his doorbell and waited outside in his taxi.

And that was why Sherlock was now standing over the man demanding to know if he had been right about which vial had contained the poison. The man had admitted to Sherlock his motivation; three years ago he had been told that he had an aneurysm and that any breath could be his last which was why he had murdered four people.  _"I've outlived four people… That's the most fun you can have with an aneurysm."_

The man had almost convinced Sherlock to find out if he had been right by playing the game, the pill was millimetres from Sherlock's mouth when the glass window had shattered and the taxi driver had fell to the ground. Sherlock rushed to look across at the other window into the empty room.

"I was right, wasn't I? Tell me!" But the man had just smiled and died. Sherlock threw the pill and walked out of the building as blue lights turned into the college.

>><<

"Why do they keep putting this on me, I'm not in shock?"

"I know but some of the guys want to take photos." Lestrade grinned like an idiot and Sherlock just grunted. "So, come on then?"

"What?" Sherlock looked at Lestrade.

"Well,  _we_ could never find out who made that shot."

"The man must have had enemies." Sherlock looked up as his new room mate walked away from Sally to the cordon and stopped looking back to Sherlock.  _I could be wrong, of course._

"But  _you_  must have something that we can go on?" Lestrade looked thoroughly surprised.

Sherlock didn't have to look in the distance to see it pull up. He was looking at John as he stood up and took the blanket off.  _Was I actually wr-_ John looked up to the side with a vacant look on his face suppressing a smile.  _No, not wrong._ "What could I possibly have to give you? Except this." Sherlock handed Lestrade the blanket.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock spun around. "Look Inspector, I have nothing to go on, the man is dead so he won't be killing anyone else and you don't have the time to argue with me."

"Why not?"

Sherlock smirked. "Your lift is here." He gestured his head over his right shoulder and Lestrade followed the direction until he saw the car and let his head drop to the floor. "Goodnight Lestrade." Sherlock walked over to the police cordon to meet John. "Evening."

"Sergeant Donovan was just explaining what happened."

"Really?"  _He's going to pretend. He certainly likes pretending._ Sherlock looked the man up and down. "How's the hand?"

"Fine just now."

"Well, it would have had to have been to make a shot like that." John kept his steeled expression. "We need to get those powder burns from your hands. Are you alright?"

John gave a curt nod at the mention of powder burns then swallowed hard. "I just did it again."

"Don't think of it as taking a life, John, think of it as saving a lot of lives."

"How is that then?"  _Not convinced._

"Because he would have killed me and he would have kept killing until he was either caught, killed or his aneurism kicked in."

John stopped. "That's true." Sherlock smiled a little less smug than usual.  _Smug wouldn't help him right now._ He ducked under the cordon and they began to walk out of the square.

The man who had alighted from the dark car stood, leaning on his umbrella, watching the two men. "Caught another one then, Sherlock?"

The two men stopped. "Yes… More or less." Sherlock ignored the smirk John was trying to stop from materialising. "This is my brother Mycroft, John."

"John Watson." John extended his hand to the man who hesitated and shook it in a business manner.  _He never was 'off the clock'. Especially when dealing with people. Even me._

"Sherlock-" Mycroft started.

Sherlock cut him off. "Let's not pretend that you're here to see me, Mycroft. Lestrade won't approach the car here. You'd better park out of sight and text him." John looked from Mycroft's annoyed and reddening face to the Inspector who let his head fall and suddenly busied himself. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed his reluctance. I thought you were supposed to be able to see everything." John gave the men a puzzled look.

"For goodness sake, Sherlock. I have a minor position in the government?"

"You  _are_  the government. And it isn't always for Queen and country is it? We'd better leave now, you're in the presence of an army man, Mycroft… Might get ugly. And believe me when I say he can fight." Sherlock turned up his collar and started to walk away. He shouted over his shoulder. "Give him time, Mycroft." He sensed John hesitating for a second before he followed Sherlock. "So, home?"

"Yeah, I'm knackered."  _Not as tough to crack as he thinks he is then._ "Your brother and Lestrade?"

"Obviously." Sherlock gave John a sideways glance.  _Hand not shaking and no limp._

"Do you mind if we walk? Gone off cabs for tonight." Sherlock laughed and they kept walking.

_Mycroft is probably relaying orders to his assistant now. Will have to think of new ways to dodge the surveillance. Not too difficult._


	8. Chapter 8

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock knew it was too good to be true. He cursed himself when he got up in the night to go to the bathroom. He never needed the bathroom in the night but for some reason he had woken with a start and gotten up. He was walking the few steps from the bathroom to his bedroom when a thought occurred to him.  _Maybe give the cultures in the fridge a quick check, John might have panicked and threw them out._ He opened the fridge when he heard the footsteps on the stairs and turned to see John's silhouette in the dark against the street lamp light seeping in the windows. "Couldn't sleep?" Sherlock only said it as a social convention, any other time and Sherlock wouldn't have said anything but he did and that's the only way he found out.

"Something like that." The man croaked and walked into the bathroom.

Sherlock heard it in his voice.  _Uneven breathing and… emotion. He's been crying. Nightmares._  Sherlock turned the light on and filled the kettle. When John came out from cleaning himself up Sherlock handed him a cup.

John paused and looked inside it. "It's just a teabag?"

"Yes I know, I don't know how you like you tea."

John let out a laugh and poured the rest of the contents of the kettle into the cup. "Milk, no sugar."  _Better file that._ "So, why are you awake? You don't strike me as the kind of guy who has things keeping him awake at night?" "He stirred the tea and put the spoon by the sink.

A long deleted thought popped into Sherlock's mind.  _Delete. Delete. DELETE!_ Sherlock's face showed no change as he screamed internally. "I have no idea." The words slipped out before he could catch them, evidently trying to re-delete that thought while answering a question with the appropriate filter did not work. "What is it, John?"

"What?" John stopped mid-sip and looked to the side obviously taken by surprise.

"What is it that wakes you up screaming and crying?"

"The war."  _Oh that was clever. He was trying to lie to me by telling the truth. Oh that was clever._

"Specifically?" Sherlock cocked his head at the man, trying to adopt a less intimidating stance but not pity.  _John would not react well to pity._

"Just the war!" John turned on the spot and slammed his cup down before looking at the floor. 

 _Well that was an unexpected reaction._ "Tell me, John. If I'm going to help you then I-"

John pushed himself away from the counter and walked into the living room. Sherlock picked up the man's cup and followed him a few steps away. "Why? You know, I don't understand  _any_  of this? I meet you and all of a sudden I'm  _living_  here and shooting people and-and now you want me to what, tell you what eats away at me every night so much that I feel like a walking shell? I just don't get it!"

"I want to help you?"

"Why? Why me? You stood in that room, seconds away from taking that damn pill just to prove that you were clever. That's what this is about, isn't it? Am I just a project to alleviate your boredom?"

"John, I don't need to  _prove_  that I'm clever. I mean…" Sherlock sighed.

"Come on? You want me to divulge my soul to you then don't insult me by lying to me."

 _Quite right._  "Fine. I do try to prove that I'm clever and that's who I am. I'm a _show-off_." Sherlock exhaled a laugh at Lestrade's words. "I can't help it but this isn't about being clever. If I helped you out of this it wouldn't prove that I'm clever it would mean that you saw what  _you_  were worth and wanted to live… How could I walk away when I know that I might be able to achieve that?" Sherlock rubbed his hair and shrugged. "That's all."

John stood looking at Sherlock and let out a sigh.  _He wanted a reason to leave and I didn't give him one._  He put his hand out and Sherlock gave him the cup. "It's always him." John sat down in his armchair.

Sherlock waited to see where John would direct his body language before he sat in the chair across from him.  _He may have wanted more distance between them while he became vulnerable._ Sherlock pulled his dressing down out from underneath him and sat back.

"During my first tour there was a lad in the unit that no one really knew and we picked on him a little. Nothing serious, we just thought that we'd give him some hassle and it'd toughen him up like others had done to the rest of us when we joined. Our superiors did it to us, it's like training 101 in the Army; it makes the ones who can't handle it drop out and the ones who can put more into it. Anyway, we went on our first tour, we were walking along with the IUD team out in front when we came under fire. It was heavy fire, heavier than we were used to… Heavier than there should have been." John furrowed his brow.  _He still didn't understand it._ "There was just too much to handle. There was too much and there were just four of us left out of fifteen; me, Paulie, Rico and Jim. Now, Paulie was the best driver, he could get you out of any tight spot in thirty seconds flat and Rico was the best aim, especially while moving and-and-" By now John was crying again.

"And you were the medic?"

John nodded. "Yeah. We ran and we ran until there were too many. We got stuck behind this shed thing and it couldn't take much more before the shots would have went right through. There was a truck about 40 feet in front of us and Jim took my gun from me. He said 'Go, I'll hold them off.' We said, 'We are not leaving you, the truck's right there!' And he just shook his head. 'You'll never make it, this is the only way. Now go!'" John could see it all again. "Paulie and Rico nodded, they knew it was the only way but I refused. He pushed me and ran out in front of them drawing the fire. I'll never forget his face as he turned to look at me. He screamed at me, 'Run Captain! Just fucking, run!' He took one in the shoulder and then Rico pulled at me 'John!' I tried to hold onto him but he had pushed me off. So we ran to the truck and as we drove away Rico started taking them out and I just watched Jim fall to the ground. I'll never forget that image. Jim Moriarty saved our lives that day." John wiped his face. "And he shouldn't have."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't even know his first name until after it, none of us did! We were the worst people and he died for us because he felt like he wasn't worth anything. He felt like our lives were more important than his."

"That wasn't why he did it, John."

"No?" John transferred his cup into his right hand and moved his left down to his side.  _Trying to hide the tremor._

"No and you know that or you wouldn't have explained that Paulie was the best driver, Rico was the best shot and you were the doctor. He saw it as the best chance for some of you to survive. If Paulie had stayed then the three of you would probably have died trying to drive out of there. If Rico had stayed then the three of you would probably have died trying to lower the number of them following you. If you had stayed then whoever had been injured would have died with no one to treat them. John," Sherlock moved off of the armchair and leaned on bent knees on the floor, "that young man that no one knew the name of was smart enough to know the best way to get as many of you out of there alive and brave enough to accept his role in all of it. You didn't kill him. You didn't want to have to leave him, you held onto him." Sherlock took a hold of John's left wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"Was this the hand that tried to hold on?" John didn't answer. "It was, wasn't it?" John just extended his neck to the ceiling as his clenched fist shook in Sherlock's grasp. "Let him go, John. Let him go… Captain."

John looked at Sherlock, so angry. "Don't start that."

"That's why you don't like that word isn't it? Let him go."

"I can't. I shouldn't have left him there!" John snatched his hand away and ran up the stairs to his room.

Sherlock let his head fall, still on bended knees. _Don't have all of the information yet but… getting there._


	9. Chapter 9

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock was an idiot.

A _bloody_ idiot and he knew that. He was trying to help and all he had done was make it worse. That is why he was in an ambulance as it rushed towards the hospital with two paramedics having just resuscitated his room mate.  _Thankfully._ As it stopped Sherlock climbed out and followed the bed inside where he was met with Lestrade in the waiting room.

"What the hell happened?" They kept following the bed along to the curtain as they spoke.

"I don't know! I just found him there!" Sherlock looked at the figure lying hooked up to machines behind the curtain.

"So, he took them _all?_ " Lestrade huffed when Sherlock couldn't find the words.  _This was my fault. Somehow this was my fault._  "Excuse me mate, Inspector Lestrade at Scotland Yard." He flashed his card. "What's going on with this patient?"

The man behind the desk started looking on his computer. "He's going to be prepped by staff to get his stomach pumped." He pointed to a woman coming along the corridor. "That's her there." Then he was gone.  _Issues with authority fig- Oh who cares! I have to find out what I've done._

The woman walked along. "Hello there, I'm Doctor Stapleton. Can you tell me what happened?"

Lestrade looked to Sherlock. "I'm his room mate, he hadn't surfaced from his room and I was worried because of his history so I went to check on him and found him. I gave the bottle to the paramedics."

"History?"

"I'm Inspector Lestrade, Scotland Yard. We've dealt with John once before when he tried to-" Lestrade looked to John and lowered his voice. "He tried to jump in front of a bus." The Doctor nodded and rambled a lot of medical things that Sherlock already knew.

>><<

When she had left, John was wheeled out of the room so Lestrade took Sherlock outside and gave him a cigarette. As they both stood and smoked he turned to Sherlock. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!"  _I don't know what I did._ Sherlock couldn't understand it. "I may have upset him when he got up in the night but I never thought…" He blew out a breath.

"How did you upset him?"

"He woke up with the same thing that wakes him up every night. So I asked him to tell me about it since I'm _supposed to be_ helping him through this. He was telling me and I was trying to prove to him that it wasn't his fault and it shouldn't be affecting him so much but he shut down and stormed off."

"What wakes him up?" 

 _Oh, can't do that._ "I don't think I should-" Lestrade's eyes widened in surprise. "Well, isn't there some kind of rule about keeping these things to yourself?"  _I was sure there was._

"Well, there is actually." 

 _So why did he react like that?_ "Then why are you surprised?"

"I just never even thought about that and well…  _You_  did."

Sherlock let out a little laugh and leaned his elbows on his knees.  _He had a point. "_ What did I do wrong, Lestrade?"  _Another surprised look. "_ You just pointed out that I'm not good at this stuff and if I do it again I might not find him that time. So… What did I do wrong?"

"He obviously wasn't ready, maybe you went too fast or just pushed too much. Or maybe it wasn't you at all." Sherlock looked to his right at the Inspector as they blew out smoke simultaneously. "The man is very unhappy and has already tried this. One night of telling a story isn't necessary going to fix it."

"I know, but I didn't think it would make it worse."

"Well that's what I'm saying. Maybe it's not that it made it worse, it just didn't make it better. Not yet."

Sherlock nodded and inhaled his cigarette. "How's Mycroft?" Lestrade huffed and made to argue. "I wasn't being snide, Inspector. I was  _actually_  asking. I never see him unless he wants something." Lestrade hit the hat-trick for surprised looks in that moment. "Inspector, we may never have quite gotten on but we did used to play together and he-"  _For god's sake delete!_  "He's still my brother." Sherlock hesitated. "Don't tell him that." Lestrade laughed. "No, seriously, if you tell him that I'll tell him about that summer in France _."_  Sherlock widened his eyes and tried not to smirk at Lestrade's facial expression.  _It was obvious._

"He's good…" He took a long draw. "Something is going on at work but he can't talk about it."

"And how are you dealing with… _It all?_ "

Lestrade cleared his throat and threw his cigarette. "If you tell anyone…" Sherlock let out a gentle laugh as the Inspector stood up. "Seriously Sherlock, I might not notice as much as you but," he smiled, "your brother talks." He walked away and Sherlock's smile fell.  _He wouldn't. "_ Oh, I would! Come on!" He looked down as he walked.  _Clearly smug._  Sherlock threw his cigarette and followed him inside.

>><<

Hours later Sherlock and Lestrade were being briefed by the doctor.

"So when can he leave?" Sherlock stood silent as Lestrade looked at the doctor.

"Well, he's physically fine, more or less, but we are worried about his mental health."

"But we are dealing with it?" Lestrade said it as if asking if he could go out to play. Sherlock would have laughed.

" _You_  are? So Scotland Yard has a personal interest in this?"

"Yes. These two men work for us on a freelance basis." Lestrade gestured his head to Sherlock.

The doctor looked between the men obviously unsure of what to do.

"I am here you know?" John barely croaked. "What the hell is wrong with my voice?" He tried to sit up and then winced and grabbed his stomach as the three others walked over to his bed. "I take it that you pumped my stomach then?"

"Deduce that all by yourself?" Sherlock smiled at John.

John laughed as he opened his eyes to Sherlock. "Wasn't exactly a big leap." He sighed.

"How are you feeling, Captain?" The doctor looked from the monitor to John.

John paused to look at the doctor.  _Shit._  "Call me John. And I feel like hell but we both know that's par for the course."

The doctor looked a little confused and then looked at the front of the file she was holding.  _She hadn't even realised that he was a doctor, she was probably too busy trying to save his life to really take it in._

"Oh,  _Dr_ Watson!" She let out a laugh. "You'll have to excuse my ignorance there we were just trying to get you in and breathing as quick as possible."  _Obviously._

"John…" She looked around at the men. "Are you comfortable talking with-"

He cut her off. "I'm not comfortable at all but they can stay."

"Right. I have spoken to Dr Knight on the phone and she wants to increase your appointments together." John groaned. "So, with that and consideration of your work and company as a result…" She looked to Lestrade, inhaling sharply. "I am willing-ish to let you walk out of here today with the promise that I will be keeping in touch with your therapist and I now know where you work so don't make me regret it." She looked at him for confirmation.  _Still unsure._ So was Sherlock.

"Understood." John gave her a smile and a nod.

She shook Sherlock's hand. "You might have to look after him for the next couple of days but he'll be fine." She then took Lestrade's hand. "Inspector, I now know where  _you_  work as well." Lestrade's smile fell a little at her threat and he nodded.

Then she was gone. "I'll wait outside. I'm taking you home," he looked to Sherlock, "no arguments." He swept out of the curtain then looked around for the exit before disappearing from sight.

"John-"

"It wasn't you."  _Trying to spare my guilt._

"I'm sorry if I pushed you too far or too soon but I was just trying to help. I didn't mean for this to happen." 

"Sherlock?" John threw the covers back and pointed to his pile of clothes as he shifted under his gown. Sherlock put the white plastic bag full of John's things on the bed beside him and waited. "It wasn't what you said, I know that you're just trying to help and I appreciate it. What you said actually made sense but-" He winced as he edged forward and Sherlock stood towards him to help him up. "My problems are not going to be taken away by one story one night." Sherlock nodded and looked at the ground. "No matter how much you hold my hand." They laughed and John winced while still laughing. "Now, bugger off so I can get changed." Sherlock nodded and left the curtain as well.

_He seemed to be telling the truth but I will need to go slower in future. The tough love approach was too risky right now. Better wait outside with Lestrade and give the man some space._

Sherlock walked out of the doors and saw Lestrade over the road with a questioning look.  _Honestly._ "I've eaten him." Lestrade just looked vacantly. "He's getting changed and he'll come out here." They sat on the fence near the smoking shelter and lit up more cigarettes.

"I thought you gave up? You said it was impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days, with the bans and everything." 

 _Yes I know what I said, thank you._ Sherlock looked at the cigarette in his hand. "I _have_ quit but every now and again patches just won't cut it."

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Sherlock?" Sherlock turned to look at Lestrade.  _Oh why can't people just delete things?_ "Being in amongst all of this?"

"What else can I do, should I just let him die? If you had the ability to save someone's life, wouldn't you? I can't just walk away knowing what he will do. I can't!" Sherlock looked away from Lestrade to the entrance as John appeared looking around for the pair and then lowered his voice. "I can't because I can stop it, Lestrade." He looked to the Inspector. "I know I can."

Lestrade nodded and followed Sherlock's lead to stand up. "Alright guys, the car is over here."  _Clearly._


	10. Chapter 10

**[Sherlock]**

"John, we need to talk." Sherlock put the cup in front of him and sat in his chair across from John.

"Are you breaking up with me?" John smiled.

"You've been here for just a few days and already you have tried it once."

John sighed and put his paper down. "And?" 

 _And?! This was suicide not sweet and sour chicken?_ "And I told you that I want to help you and that is what I'm going to do. I think that we should really talk about this and I want to clarify a few things."

"Okay then…" John picked up his cup and gingerly took a sip before deciding that it was fine and settling his eyes back on Sherlock. "Talk?"

"Right." Sherlock shuffled around on his chair. "If I am actually going to help you then I need to know everything surrounding your pain, this includes anything that causes the pain and your thoughts on the matters. This also means your coping mechanisms and anything else that might be regarded as relevant. I realise that this will make you feel uncomfortable and vulnerable but if I don't know all of this then I will have no hope of really helping you. Understood?"

"Understood." John nodded curtly.

"But this is a two way thing, John. I'm helping you but I understand that I'm not doing you a favour or that you should be thankful because you would much rather to just be left to your own devices so I need to know what you want from me." John looked at Sherlock confused. "Well, you're going to have questions and rules about this, you might not realise until the moment that they occur to you but you will and I need to know about them because I'm not a mind reader."

"You could have fooled me." John looked down. "Alright then. If I am going to tell you the bare, stinging truth then I will have questions for you and I need you to be prepared to answer them and answer them truthfully. The last thing I need is you treating me like a child. I let you in and you let me in; that's how this works or it doesn't work at all. Understood?"

"Understood." Sherlock sighed and stood up before turning back to John. "Would it bother you if I played the violin?"  _Probably should have mentioned that._

"No no, on you go." Sherlock picked up the violin and fixed his bow as Mrs Hudson walked in. "I didn't know you played?"

"It helps me think." Sherlock started to play.  _He won't talk unless…_

"You ought to watch him, Dr Watson, he gets lost when he plays that thing. He can play it for hours and not even realise that…"

… _I talk. He is willing to be open and truthful with me but as long as I give him the same back. Lying will cause the man to clam up and lose whatever trust he has decided to put in me. But I have no desire to rehash that whole episode. I may have to. There is definitely more than meets the eye with Dr Watson and his demons. Jim Moriarty. The demon that keeps John up at night and in a perpetual state of regret, shame and despair. Jim Moriarty, the man who saved the lives of men who had no respect for him and lives on in John's nightmares._

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock stopped playing and turned around to John who was at the doorway to the flat. "What?"

"Your brother has been here since I went to the shops an hour ago?" Sherlock looked to where John had been sitting at Mycroft who gave him an unconvincing smile.

_Hasn't slept properly. Face a little puffy. Made a cup of tea but hasn't drank it. Mobile on the end table. Problems._

Sherlock looked back at John. "An hour? Is that how long I've been playing?" He put the instrument down and rubbed his head.  _Certainly didn't feel like that long._

"No, you were playing for at least half an hour before Mycroft turned up." John walked into the kitchen to put the bags he was carrying down on the table. "Mrs Hudson wasn't kidding when she said you get lost when you're playing."

"He's always been the same, Dr Watson." Mycroft twirled the wooden handle of his umbrella in between the palms of his hands. 

 _There was only one thing that made Mycroft act like this._ "What have you done?" Sherlock sat across from Mycroft and brought his knees up to touch his chin.

John came back into the living room to sit at the desk behind Sherlock before he turned to Mycroft. "I can go upstairs if you-"

"No…" Mycroft sighed. "No, it's fine. He'd only tell you anyway. And I haven't  _done_  anything, Sherlock. At least I don't think so." He looked into the distance before finally holding his phone out to Sherlock. "Press call."

Sherlock took it and looked as John leaned to look over his shoulder. 'Gregory.' Sherlock looked at Mycroft before pressing speaker and the call button. It rang a couple of times before it cut off.

"He won't answer. You try." Mycroft took his phone back, put it in his pocket before leaning back and looking idly at his cup of tea.

Sherlock took out his phone and John put out his hand. "I'll do it. If you phone right after your brother he'll know."  _Good point._  The brothers nodded. "He'll hang up though, he'll be busy, look." John put the speaker on and pressed call. It only rang once.

 _"Hello, John. How are you, is everything alright?"_  John looked to Mycroft who shifted uncomfortably in his seat but didn't look surprised.

 _He doesn't sound very happy._  Sherlock and Mycroft shared a look.  _I don't think Mycroft has even wondered why._

"Yeah, everything's fine I just thought I would check in and let you know I'm okay. Listen, do you fancy a drink tonight? I need out of this flat and you know what Sherlock's like, I need an adult escort apparently."

_"Sounds good mate. I'll phone you when I get off, I shouldn't be too late."_

"Are you on a case right now?"

"Yeah, seems straight forward though, city boy _, Eddie Van Coon, has committed suicide in his flat so-"_

 _Wait. Something. Something. Something. What..._ The email Sherlock received and disregarded popped into his head.  _Can't be a coincidence._  "Eddie Van Coon?" Sherlock grabbed John's phone and stood up talking into the mic with it still on speaker as he spun around, John looked up. Mycroft didn't.

_"Yeah? Works for some banking group, why? God Sherlock, don't tell me it's a murder. You couldn't know that from his name… Can you?"_

"Don't be ridiculous. I got an email from an old classmate who-" Sherlock grunted. "I'll explain later, don't touch anything I'm on my way. Come on, John. Mycroft we have to go." Sherlock threw John the phone obviously unaware that it was still on.

John took the speaker off and put the phone to his ear as Sherlock put his coat on. "Em, we'll be about half an hour, Greg. See you there." Greg didn't answer and hung up. 

 _Half an hour?_ Sherlock fixed his coat collar. "It won't take half an hour to get there?"

"No it won't. But your brother came here for advice and you owe him."

"What?"  _How did he know that?_

"He came here for help and you have just let Greg know," John gestured to his phone, "that he's here. Idiot."  _Oh._

"It's alright. It's all one can really expect from Sherlock, as you will soon learn." Mycroft smiled but it wasn't real or even his usual disingenuous number.

Sherlock paused a second.  _Idiot is right._ "Stand up." Mycroft just looked up at his younger brother. "Come on, you wanted help so I'm helping. Come with us to the scene."

"Sherlock, that's not going to help." John sighed. "Go on, go to the crime scene."

"Why not?" Sherlock hovered.

John looked to Mycroft in disbelief before sitting down where Sherlock had been. "Would you tell me?" Sherlock huffed and left. _I wouldn't have been any help anyway. John was still waking up in the night and had started using his cane on the stairs again after the particularly nasty ones._

Mycroft looked to Sherlock as he left then to John and sighed. "I have nothing to lose. You might have a better idea of what I did wrong. As you may know, Gregory is having some trouble coming to terms with his sexuality and I don't. We have started a relationship and when it's just us it's…" a hint of a smile appeared on the man's sad face, it was so unnatural it looked painful, as if he had never had a reason to genuinely smile in a long time, if ever. "It's just when we are in the real world that he changes. Please don't think that I don't understand it, Dr Watson, because I do. In fact, while my parents were completely supportive to the point of indifference to it all, the children in my village were less progressive." He sat forward a little in his chair. "I was cornered in a toilet in high school by some particularly aggressive jocks one afternoon. To this day I don't know if they were going to beat me up or something much more… Traumatic." John swallowed the anger in his throat and extended his neck a little in the attempt to calm himself. John remembered the time that his sister came home covered in cuts and bruises and he put his hand on his forehead. "Are you alright, Dr Watson?"

"Yeah, sorry I was-sorry, carry on." He lowered his hand and gestured to Mycroft.

"I don't know what would have happened because Sherlock saved me."

John looked up. "He did what?"

"He told me later that while I had been trying to ignore their whispers and taunts Sherlock had been listening in passing and overheard their plans. He followed them and he, shall we say, gave them a physical demonstration of his brotherly love." Mycroft resumed his less genuine smile.

"He beat them up?" John's eyebrows raised and his head tilted foreword a little.

"Oh, just enough until they either passed out or ran away. Needless to say I was avoided for different reasons after that. So, I do understand Gregory's problems to an extent and I don't want to dismiss them I just want to help him through them. I want to help. What did I do wrong, Dr Watson?"

"Well... I wasn't there, did he change when you said one particular thing or did he just stop talking to you?"

Mycroft thought for a second. "He was telling me about his marriage. It has recently ended because he has had a string of affairs. He was telling me about his constant attempts to assure himself that he was straight and how guilty he felt over the way he treated his wife. I said that it shouldn't matter now. Then he stormed off." John suddenly wondered if Mycroft should have told him any of his but it was not much more than he thought Sherlock could have told him anyway.

"Well, there's your problem right there." Mycroft looked shocked and listened. "He has spent his whole life denying who he is and trying to be someone else. He obviously loved her in some way or he never would have married her and then he goes about having all of these affairs trying to tell himself that he knows who he is. He might have known that he was gay deep down inside but if he's chosen to ignore it then he's lived his life as this 'false Greg'. As the years have gone on it has gotten harder to ignore the man he really is and it's taken over and basically killed the man he thought he knew he was, this 'false Greg', as I said. And all of a sudden he's been thrown out, coming to terms with this new, real Greg and thrown into a relationship with a man who has never had the same problems as him. You may have had your own problems but you always knew who you were and haven't lived to this point in your life walking through mist, never really seeing properly. On top of all of that he's still trying to deal with the guilt he feels about what he did to a perfectly innocent woman whose only crime was loving him and forgiving him countless times. Then you say 'It shouldn't matter'. Mycroft, he doesn't think that you really understand. Maybe try being less like a councillor and more like a boyfriend. Just listen and understand instead of trying to solve and explain."

Mycroft thought for a second or two then nodded slowly. "You're right. I have been such an idiot. Sherlock always said that even around the dinner table I looked like I was in a business meeting." John tried not to laugh. "Thank you." He stood, straightened his tie and put his hand out to shake John's. "If you'll excuse me I have an appointment but if you could, could you try to get Gregory to answer his phone, just once today?"

"I'll try." John smiled and reached for his jacket.

"Can I give you a lift, Dr Watson?"

"Oh thank you, I'll need to phone Sherlock. I don't actually know where the crime scene is. And call me John."


	11. Chapter 11

**[Sherlock]**

A few days later John and Sherlock were sitting in their living room after they worked with Detective Inspector Dimmock to solve the case of two murders first thought to be suicides. Lestrade decided to take a few days leave and Dimmock was his stand in.  _Haven't heard from Mycroft and have noticed a distinct lack of me-focused surveillance._ Sherlock looked at the front cover of the Sunday Express, the headline read 'WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLION HAIR?'  _How unoriginal._  He folded the paper and picked up another not really expecting any better.

"That was ridiculous. Over a thousand years old and every night it's sitting on her bedside table." John commented.

"He didn't know the value of the pin and didn't know why they were chasing him. Just thought it would suit her."

"Hmm. Probably should have got her a lucky cat."

Sherlock smiled briefly.  _Failure._  "Hmm."  _The gang will have closed up the gap they caused by now._

John noticed Sherlock's change in demeanour "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

Sherlock looked to John sat across from him at the table. "What?"

"That Shan escaped. Is it not enough that we got her two henchmen?"

"It must be a pretty expansive network John with hundreds, if not thousands, ready to step into the roles. We barely scratched the surface."

John looked out the window and saw a man graffiti a parking ticket machine then disappear along the streets. "Do people always try to kill you?"

"Criminals tend to get a little annoyed when someone smarter comes along and threatens everything."

"Isn't it funny that I spend my whole time chasing death but I can never seem to catch it?" He looked down thoughtfully and picked up his mug before standing as he spoke while Sherlock moved the paper to look at John again. "Maybe it's too busy chasing after you."

_Not good._

"John, we should really talk more about everything." Sherlock turned in his chair to face John as he walked to put his cup in the kitchen sink.

"Not tonight. Greg and I are going to finally have that visit to the pub. He wants to check in with me and I think he needs someone to talk to. Do you want to come?"

Sherlock turned back to his paper. "He won't talk about it in front of me."

"He might."

"He won't, John."

"Hmm. Perhaps you're right."  _Perhaps?_  John picked his coat off of the chair and spun round. "Will you be alright?"  _No, please babysit me. Honestly._ "You can phone me if you need me?"

"Why would I need you?" Sherlock looked up to John.

"I don't know."  _Insulted. Why?_ And he left.  _Still without his cane. Good._

>><<

John got to the bottom of the stairs and ran into Mrs Hudson.

"Oh, you alright love, going out?"

"Yeah, just going to meet Greg for a drink."

"Is Sherlock not going with you?" She started to walk up the stairs while she spoke.

"No, he doesn't want to."

"I worry about him, you know, he's came a long way in these past few years but I think it still haunts him all the same. Anyway, you have fun love!"

"Wha…" John hesitated but she was already all the way up and he could hear mumbling as they spoke. John looked at the floor before zipping up his jacket and walking out.

>><<

**[John]**

"Alright mate, got you a pint." Greg nodded to John as the man unzipped his jacket and sat across from him. John thought it was weird to see Greg in anything that wasn't a suit as he looked at the man's Led Zepplin t-shirt, John could see denim jeans when he was walking over and there was a leather jacket on the seat beside the Inspector.  _Leather? Never would have guessed._

"How are you? You missed one hell of a case." John sighed and took a sip of his pint trying not to stare at his left hand.  _No ring._

"Yeah, I read Dimmock's report. Why is it suicides always turn out to be murders around him?" Lestrade lifted his pint and hesitated. "Sorry, mate. How are you?"

"You don't have to say sorry, it is a word and you are allowed to say it. I'm fine." He smiled at Greg who just shot him a look. "Okay, I'm not fine but I'm dealing with it."

"I thought that living with Sherlock would be too stressful for you."

"Why?"

"Well since you've moved in all people have done is try to kill you two?"

John laughed. "Tried. That's the important bit."  _Wait, what?_  "Anyway, how's things with you?" Lestrade shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. "Greg, we can spend all night awkwardly dancing around what you want to talk about while you try to make me talk about what I don't want to or we can get it over with and get pissed? Your call." John smiled and took a sip of his drink.

Lestrade sighed. "You're starting to sound like Sherlock." John smiled.  _Why was that good? "_ Alright fine. Well, you know when you turned up at the crime scene and you told me to answer the phone to Mycroft?"

"Yeah. I asked you to trust me, you left not long after that and Dimmock turned up." John nodded, he wouldn't mind admitting that although he was surprised that Greg had actually trusted him it made him feel good. Wanted. Like he wasn't _just_ Sherlock's sidekick, at least not everyone.

"Yeah, well I went outside and answered the phone. We spoke for a little while, he apologised and I knew that he was just saying that and he didn't really understand what had happened-" John opened his mouth to protest. "Wait. But he asked me to just give him half an hour to prove it to him."  _Sounds familiar. "_ At first I was reluctant but… You said to trust you because you'd spoken to him so I went."

"Right?" John's phone buzzed he fished it out of his jacket pocket and Lestrade waited to see if he needed to rush off for any reason.

_He's not wearing his ring, is he? – SH_

John ignored it which was as good as an answer.

When John put the phone back in his pocket indicating that it wasn't important Lestarde looked, with his head bowed, at his hands around his pint as he spoke. "We spoke for ages. He explained what he had thought about it all, what he thought that I thought, what he said to you, what you said to him and what he realised. We shouted–well _I_ shouted, he doesn't really shout I don't even know if he's able to. Anyway, we laughed, we cried and…" He exhaled a smile. "I have honestly never had a night like that, John. I have never communicated with someone like that before, to tell them everything; every truth, hope, mistake, fear, thought, wonder, question and while it was terrifying because everything was riding on it, it was… the best thing ever. Just really letting someone into the most protected part of you."

When Greg finally lifted his eyes to John like an embarrassed teenager John let out a gentle laugh and the Inspector's face began to redden. "Oh you are in deep already, aren't you?"

A shy smirk appeared on Greg's face. "Yeah. Is that bad?"

"No, not at all. Unless you count the fact that he's Sherlock's brother." John smiled and Greg laughed.

"There is that, I suppose."

"Relax, happiness suits you, Greg. So… How serious is it?"

"We're taking it slowly just now. I don't know?" He looked at John who just raised a questioning eyebrow. "No! Not… yet." He laughed and John drained his pint.

"Right, my round. See, now we can concentrate on getting drunk."

John stood up and Lestrade looked at his half-full glass. "Not too drunk, I'm back on duty tomorrow."

>><<

A couple of hours later Greg brought them over another round, he stumbled a little in and out of the chairs that surrounded the bar. He put the glasses down and flicked his hands to the side to shake off the beer that had spilled over before wiping his hands on the bottom of his t-shirt.

"Tell me something Greg." Greg lifted his head to John in a 'what? gesture, after taking a sip. "What happened to Sherlock?" He just got a confused look in reply. "Before I left, Mrs Hudson said she thinks Sherlock's still haunted by something in the past few years?"

"Ah." Lestrade knew what he meant. 

 _I knew it._ "What was it?"

"I thought he would have told you but then again, it's Sherlock so maybe not… I don't think I should."

"Come on, Greg. I don't even know him, I've said to him that if he wants me to open up and trust him then he has to do the same but I feel like I'm on the outside here. Everyone knows something that I don't. Come on, if I knew something about Mycroft wouldn't you rather I told you?"

"Yeah, but Sherlock isn't your boyfriend… Is he?" John gave Greg a 'shut up, idiot' look. "Oh my god…"

"What?" John looked at Greg's face.  _Full of shock._

"I have a boyfriend."

John started laughing. "Yes, you do. Now, come on?"

Greg shook his head. "John, it's really not my place to say, you need to ask him."

"I'll tell the station that you once farted during sex."

Lestrade's face fell. "Aw, now I told you that in confidence!" John shrugged and Lestrade sighed. "Fine, but in my defence I had just had a curry!" He rubbed his head and exhaled. "You know how Sherlock did a lot of saving Mycroft when they were younger when Mycroft got bullied for his being gay?" John nodded. "And have you noticed that Sherlock never uses that against his brother but uses everything else?" John thought about it then nodded.  _Why was that?_ "Well, that's because Mycroft did some saving of his own. When Sherlock was about seventeen his mother died. Both of them were very close to her, Mycroft was close to his father as well because he had a head for business but he had died a few years before so when their mum died they only had each other. The thing was Mycroft was on his way to university that August."

"Did he go?"

"Yeah, Sherlock said he would be fine and Mycroft didn't really believe him but he thought that maybe he just needed space to get himself right. Anyway, after a month his contact with Sherlock started to get less and less; at first Sherlock wouldn't pick up the phone, he would only text and then he stopped texting except in reply to texts Mycroft sent him and then it stopped all together. Now, you know these two are from money, right?"

"Well, I hardly thought they were brought up on an estate." John laughed at the thought of the police being called to a flat because the sounds of the violin at three in the morning were too loud, Sherlock answering the door in his satin dressing gown before he starts telling each officer their life story and why their grammar is wrong.

"Oh, they were." John looked confused. "Just a different kind of estate. This one had a gate, servants and a library." John thought they were from money but didn't realise just how much. "Well, Mycroft noticed a hit to Sherlock's finances since he'd left so, one week he decides to get a holiday, go home to surprise Sherlock and see what's really going on. He gets home and the place is in darkness and completely empty."

"Where was Sherlock?" John leans forward. This was like some kind of tale in a book and John was already worried.

"Mycroft found him down by the lake-" 

 _Where?!_ "They had a lake?!"

"Yeah, well it was more of a pond but Mycroft hates that word so he calls it the lake. Anyway, he gets there and finds Sherlock unconscious and in a pool of his own vomit. The idiot had been taking drugs and bloody ODed right there on the grass." 

 _Overdose? Sherlock? Weird._ "Was he alright?" John frowned at his own words.  _Of course he was alright, idiot, you live with him._

"Well, he was in hospital for a long time. It didn't help that he never looks after himself properly so he wasn't exactly strong to begin with but it really tore through his body. We couldn't question him for a long time." Lestrade drained his pint and burped discretely into his closed fist.

"Wait, we? You were there?"

"Yeah," Greg nodded, "that's how I met him. The house was a mess and it wasn't clear if he had been attacked or not so we had to investigate it all with nothing to go on because they kept him pretty much sedated for a few weeks while his body recovered. I came in one morning and he was groggy but still pretty out of it and I started to ask him about what had happened. He ignored me completely for ages to the point where I got a nurse because I thought he was maybe having a fit or something."

"What was wrong?"

"Nothing, he just thought my questions were so stupid that they didn't merit an answer."

The two men laughed as they walked to the bar leaving their things on the table. The place was busy but empty enough and the men were too drunk to think about it twice. They argued for a while about whose round it was before deciding that John would buy the pints and Lestrade would get some whiskey before they returned to their seats.

"Not too many of these though, I'm back at work in the morning."

"So, I take it that he meant to OD?"

"What makes you say that?" Lestrade wiped away his froth moustache and pulled his coat, which he had just sat on, from under his bottom.

"Sherlock has the brain of a chemist or something and he knows about drugs in relation to weight and things so he wouldn't have made a mistake like that. He might insult someone with something that you or I would lie about but he wouldn't mess up the intake of a drug?" Lestarde didn't say anything. "So he tried to commit suicide…?"  _Now it was all making sense, he wasn't trying to save me, he was trying to save himself. It was all guilt. He didn't care._

"I said to him, 'Why did you take those drugs, Mr Holmes?' and he said, 'To kill myself. Obviously.' So I asked him why and he said he was bored."

"Bored?" John nearly choked.

"Yeah, 'Bored of the pain' were his exact words." Something caught in John's throat. "I came into his room one day and he said, 'Inspector, this is getting quite tedious so why don't you go back to your double murder.' I stopped and I asked him how he knew about that, because no one had told him. Then he went on a rambling about how my tie had brick dust on it and my shoes were scuffed at the front as well as a load of other things that I didn't catch because he rambled them off so quickly. He then pointed out that if you were going to murder two people for the money why would you bury them so badly on the site where you work. After some digging around I found out that the guy we had in custody couldn't have committed the murders because he was in a&e with a broken hand. Apparently he had had an argument with his missus and punched the wall in his kitchen."

"Did you catch the murderer?"

"No." Lestrade shook his head. "Sherlock did. After days and days of nothing I went to his bed and asked him how he figured that out, I ended up – god knows why – telling him just a couple of things about the case that I shouldn't have and he pointed out scrape marks on a crime scene photo that-"

John forced himself to pull the pint away from his mouth. "Crime scene photos? You 'ended up telling him just a couple of things' but happened to have crime scene photos on you?"

"Alright, I showed him the file but I was at a loose end and I'd just been chucked out my house again so…" The two men looked at each other and laughed. "He pointed out this line of paint scrapings that we all assumed was just wear and tear, anyway he said that something had been brushed up against it so that they could get in and out of the yard without showing any signs of having been there and leaving all of the blame with someone who worked there. We went through the files on the workers and there was a link to one of them, he just said to me 'not him because this would have had to have been pulled off by someone who knew the security and routines of the yard. I bet he, the bloke we arrested, has a brother, if the brother has a green ladder then arrest him.' And he turned around and went back to sleep."

"Just like that?" Lestrade nodded. "And what did you do?"

"I found a green ladder in the guys garage and matched the paint scrappings. And I got a confession from the man's older brother who was trying to frame the younger one for inheritance."

"So, that's how Sherlock started working for you?"

"Yeah, it gave him something to focus on, it helped me make sure I caught the criminals and, more importantly, the  _right_  ones. I think he remembers what it was like to be in that point of his life and then surviving it; he doesn't want people to make the same mistake." Lestrade put his hand on John's arm. "He's not just trying to solve a puzzle, mate, or get rid of guilt or something."  _Wasn't he?_  "He's a heartless bastard but he really cares."

John looked down at the man's hand on his arm and nodded. "I'm telling Mycroft you came onto me." Lestrade pulled his hand away and laughed.


	12. Chapter 12

**[Sherlock]**

_Why? Why did he have to be here? On my couch. I can't take this anymore._ Sherlock grabbed his gun and stood up. He took one last look at Greg's chest rising a falling as he slept on the sofa.  _Shouldn't be drinking himself into oblivion then._ Sherlock aimed at the smiley face he had drawn when he had woken up and found nothing to amuse himself with. Sherlock pulled the trigger six times.

Lestrade rolled off the couch with a bang, grabbed the remote off the table and aimed it at Sherlock as he tried to focus his vision.  _Must sleep with his gun on the nightstand. I'll need to remember that._

John came running down the stairs and there were two sets of footsteps coming up the stairs.  _One quicker than the other._ "What the fuck, Sherlock?" Sherlock winced at John's language.  _Was there any need for that?_

"What are you doing to my wall?" Mrs Hudson appeared in the doorway a little flustered and with a dish towel in her hand.

"Never mind the wall, what the hell are you doing to my heart, Sherlock?" Lestrade picked himself up off the floor and leaned over to catch his breath with one hand on his back.  _It could not be sore from that bump. Overreaction._  Mrs Hudson muttered something about taking it out of his rent as she pushed past the person who had been in no rush to investigate the shots.

"It's about time you got up anyway, Lestrade. You're late for work." Sherlock smiled at the visitor.

Greg checked his watch. "Oh shit!" Lestrade grabbed his trousers and put one leg in.

"Don't worry, Inspector. Your lift is here." Sherlock tightened his bow and sat in the chair to pluck at his violin.  _Hurry up and leave so I can play._

"What?" He turned in the direction of the doorway where John was standing awkwardly with Mycroft. "Mycroft? What are you doing here? Ahh!" Greg put his right hand on his head and screwed up his eyes and John did pretty much the same.  _Whiskey then._ "Bloody hell!"

Mycroft put his hand in his pocket and threw a packet of paracetamol at the Inspector who barely caught it. "I thought you might appreciate the change of clothes and lift to your work."

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." The Inspector threw the painkillers to John who took this opportunity to slink past the two men into the living room and then the kitchen where he grabbed a glass of water.

"I know you are I was just-"

"I'll tell you what you were doing, shall I? Not only were you spying on me you are  _still_  trying to make everything disappear. Well, I've told you that it doesn't work like that." Lestrade put his other leg in his trousers. "I need to be able to make mistakes, Mycroft. I need to get pissed and be late for work and then suffer all day because that's how it works. You make mistakes and do something stupid, something unforgivable, you need to deal with the consequences or you never learn and you just keep doing it and hurting people." He took a breath as he pulled his shirt on.

"I know that. I wasn't trying to swoop in and take over I was just trying to help."

"Well, it's not helping. It's spying and taking liberties." He fixed his shirt collar aggressively and Mycroft looked at his hand on his umbrella guiltily and this is where Sherlock took a breath.  _Enough._

"You won't have much luck there, Inspector. He's done that his whole life, haven't you Mycroft?" All three men looked to Sherlock who was still picking the strings on his violin.  _John has been looking at me differently in the short time he has been down the stairs so I know Lestrade has told John about what had happened. Well, there's that and the drunken slur I heard last night. John thinks I'm only trying to help him because of my own guilt. Let's use that._ "Even when I was a child all you did was spy on me and make decisions for me. Even whether I lived or not."

"Now hold on, Sherlock." Lestrade looked to John in panic.

"No, I've had enough of this, it's about time you learned Mycroft. Sometimes people don't want your help and your surveillance. There's concern and there's control freak. All you do is interfere, _brother dearest_." Sherlock said the endearment with resent.

"Sherlock, come on-" John shuffled on the spot.

"That's not fair, Sherlock." Lestrade looked at the younger brother slightly aghast.

"And as if the spying on me and my friends, then and now, isn't enough, you won't just let me die! You even cancelled classes so that I wouldn't guess that you were coming to catch me. Obsessive, if ever I saw it." Sherlock stood up. "And now you tell John about what happened."  _Nearly._

"What?" Mycroft was looking at Sherlock wondering where he was going with this.

"The other day when you came 'for advice' on your crumbling and frankly ridiculous relationship with a man who can't even come to terms with his sexuality never mind love you, you tell the man I'm trying to help with his own problems and demons about my own attempt on my life. It's unforgivable, Mycroft."  _That did it._

"Now, hold on a bloody minute!" Lestrade pointed to Sherlock as he spoke. "You should be thankful that you have a brother who cares enough to go to those kind of lengths to ensure your safety." Mycroft made to interrupt and Lestrade turned to him. "No, you shut up." He turned back to Sherlock. "You get us all into a lot more trouble than I think you even know and he gets you out of it. Or maybe you do know and you just don't care. And if you want to shout at anyone then you can shout at me," he grabbed his coat, "because it was me that told John what you should have already told him. I _am_ sorry for telling him that because it wasn't my story to tell but the guy was the only one left on the outside and it could have pushed him further into the darkness. You should be thankful that you have the people around you that you do because I never had a brother or a sister or even parents that cared like that."  _Obviously._ He turned his body, but not his head, to leave and turned back. "And we may have been mates first, Sherlock, but now I'm dating your brother and I'm afraid you don't get a say in what happens. Come on, Mycroft. I will take that lift." Greg nodded to John and left angry.

Mycroft paused and looked at Sherlock with a small smile.  _You're welcome._  John tossed him the painkillers and the man followed his partner down the stairs and into his car.

Sherlock just smirked and stood up as Mycroft left. He began to turn to the window before he caught John's eye and stopped to look at him. "What?"

"Will you ever stop trying to pay him back?"

"I'm not paying him back." Sherlock played one note.

"Then what was that?"

"Lestrade is a stubborn bastard. He actually thought the gesture was sweet and he knew that Mycroft was watching me and not him. He just happened to wander in here at three in the morning and not leave again. One could even argue that that is exactly why he crashed here."

"So that Mycroft would see him?"

"Maybe. I don't know everything about Lestrade, John." Sherlock started playing the violin again and heard John shuffle back to the kitchen.  _How will this go? How will John react? And how will I convince John of my intent-_

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock stopped playing and turned to see John still in the kitchen.  _So it hadn't be very long this time._  "Yes, John?" Sherlock paused for a second to see John bite his bottom lip anxiously.  _So he wants to do this now? But I haven't thought about it prop-_

"We need to talk about this."

"I need to play." Sherlock began playing again.  _I don't know how to convince John that I'm not doing this through gui-_

"Well, tough."  _What?_  Sherlock stopped playing and turned to see John shut and lock the front door.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock looked to the armchairs and saw cups of steaming tea.  _Ah. I'm being cornered. I'll just keep pl-_ Sherlock bought the bow back to the strings.

"Don't you dare, Sherlock." He let his arms fall as John stood in front of his armchair and pointed to the seat across from him. "Sit."

_But I haven't had a chance to think it all through yet. This isn't the way that it goes._

"John, I-"

"Sit. Down. Now." John sat down in his seat and Sherlock raised his arms and lowered them again unsure of what to do. In the end he put his violin down and walked slowly to the chair before sitting down. John took a sip of his tea before he got himself comfortable. "From the beginning."

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock feigned ignorance.

"Lestrade told me about it but I want to hear it from you. We agreed that I tell you and you tell me. So…"

"Yes, well you tell me and I'll tell you?" He shot the older man an unconvincing smile.  _Never going to work._

John shook his head. "No, technically I already told you about Jim so I say we start from the beginning. Either you go or I do. Out that door."

Sherlock paused and looked at the man.  _Unfaltering gaze. A little hungover, about twenty minutes before the painkillers really kicked in. Steady hand. Not kidding._

"Fine, you have questions?"  _Just ask me specific things so that I don't have to tell you everything._

"No. Tell me from the beginning." John sat looking at Sherlock with his hands holding his cup of tea as he spoke.

_It was no use. I'm going to have to go into that room. Go into the room where I kept all the bad things. It was the only way._

"I assume Lestrade told you that my mother died and left Mycroft and myself orphans?" John gave a curt nod. "Well, I didn't take it very well. Obviously."  _Just be honest you know he deserves it. Undelete. Undelete? It's not even deleted properly. It's in that box. Box?_ Sherlock could hear  **his**  voice now.

' _You know which box. In that room in your mind full of the things that you don't want to deal with so you clutter it all so that it's harder for them to sneak up on you and affect you. Go on… Just open the box. You can do it, Sherlock.'_

"Sherlock?" Sherlock shook Mycroft's voice from his head and came back into the room. With the box ready to be opened.

"Yes… Sorry. I, um-My mother was the only one who really understood what it was like for me, in my head. My father understood to an extent but he was more like Mycroft, you know, business-like. My mother and I would do experiments and research things just to know them. She is the one who taught me who to construct a mind palace and-"

"I'm sorry, a what?"

"A mind palace, it's a memory technique. You construct a place that you know well and you use it store information and whenever you need it again you can find it where you left it. It means that, in theory, you can never forget anything."

"So, you use that technique to store all of the stuff that you know?"

"Yes, for me it's more of a city full of places that I know and use to efficiently store important information. Normal people clutter their minds with useless pieces of trivia."

"Like how I take my tea." John smiled. _He thinks he doesn't matter. Still._

"That isn't useless information." John looked surprised. "That's very useful information. In my mind there's a street that is, funnily enough, almost identical to this one. When I find something out about Mrs Hudson, for example, that I want to remember then I walk to this street and in the door of 221 Baker Street where I then open the door of 221A and I put it in there so when I want to find it again I just go to where I put it. Similarly I can come up the stairs to 221B and into the kitchen where there will be a note beside the kettle that says 'John; milky, no sugar.' There will be another copy of it beside the tea bags, the sugar, the milk and even in your room because it's information about tea, about sugar, about milk and about you. It's very important information, John, because it's about you."

John shuffled in his seat a little.  _Surprised. Why?_  He cleared his throat. "So, she did all of this with you?"

"Yes, she really understood what it was like to be overrun by it all and have the walls of your own mind cave in on you. When she died I crumbled." Sherlock played with the arm rest. "It was like someone had gone through into my mind, into every street, into every building, into every room and…"  _How do I word it?_

"Moved everything around?"  _Yes._

Sherlock looked to John. "Yes. Muddled it all up and destroyed some of it. I couldn't think, I couldn't function. I didn't know what to do."  _Maybe if I tried hard enough I could poke a hole in this arm rest and crawl into it._

"Why didn't you talk to Mycroft? Surely he understood. You and he think the same, don't you? Well, not the same but…"  _Oh. Not the same?_

"What do you mean?" Sherlock started pulling and poking at the armchair a little faster. "Not the same?"

"Well, his thinking is more on a macro level because of his job and definitely more clean-cut; if it doesn't fit in with his world or perception then I think he just files it in a waste paper bin in there somewhere. More of a mind-computer than a mind-palace. Yours is more on a micro level, you have the experience that Mycroft lacks, yes he's experienced things but I don't think he takes anything away from it not anything more than a business diagram would tell him."

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, when he was born he came out with a briefcase and in a suit."  _Maybe if I used my nail it'd cut through the fabric._

The two men laughed a little. "Whereas you came out with a magnifying glass and probably that coat." They laughed again.

"I couldn't talk to Mycroft."  _However much I wanted too._

"Why not?"  _Because I didn't want to be a burden._

"Because my brother's life was just beginning and if I had spoken to him about it then he wouldn't have gone to university. He would have stayed and helped me. He would have put his life on hold for me and I didn't want him to do that. Besides, I mistakenly thought that I could handle it. I needed ways to sort my thinking just slow it down so that it didn't overcome me so much. Before I knew it I was in too deep. I couldn't see a way back so I…"  _I did the only thing that would make it stop. I hit rock bottom. I really want to take a knife to this arm chair._

"It''s okay, Sherlock." John leaned forward until he was knelling on the floor in front of Sherlock and took the detective's left hand with his own steady left. "Stop." Sherlock stopped attacking the arm rest and looked to John's hand. "Tell me. You went down to the lake?"  _Lake? Lestrade relaying Mycroft's words._

"Yes, Mycroft never did like the word 'pond'. I went down to the pond and I did what I had to do."

"How did it feel?"

Sherlock looked from his hand in the other's to the man's face. "Everything cleared. It was like the scene in Mary Poppins when they are cleaning up."  _Where did that pop up from?_ "Everything just effortlessly went back to where it was meant to be and I cried."  _Don't tell him that!_ Sherlock pulled his hand away and shuffled.

"That's okay. Sherlock, it is okay to cry. Do you know how many times I woke up in my bunk to the sounds of fellow soldiers crying? In the beginning anyway, after a while you learn to cry without making a noise… You have to." He looked away into the distance as if remembering.  _I wonder how many times he has cried silently in this flat._ Eventually he give his head a little shake before looking back to Sherlock. "Go on." He rocked back on his hells and moved back to his seat.

"I closed my eyes and I saw Mycroft."

"Mycroft?"

"Yes. As soon as I saw his face I instantly regretted what I had done. Then I woke up in hospital. I was upset about the fact that it hadn't worked but as much as we argue and compete I knew that losing me would affect him. And I was glad that I woke up because the way that I felt when my mother died… I didn't want to be the cause of that to him." Sherlock looked away and waited for John's reaction.

"So, you don't just feel like you owe him for saving you, you feel like you owe him for what you almost caused him?" Sherlock nodded. "And because after that you ended up with the best thing that ever happened to you. Your work at Scotland Yard?" Sherlock nodded again. "Wow."

"What?" Sherlock looked to John. "What is 'wow'?"

"Nothing it's just… I didn't realise that you felt so indebted to him. You've been saving and rewarding him ever since."  _Maybe._ "You two are brilliant, do you know that?"  _What?_ "You both spend your whole lives trying to protect and help the other. Both of you afraid that you'll lose each other and endlessly repaying each other for imagined debts."

"Imagined debts?"

"Sherlock, your brother didn't come home unannounced because he would be lonely, he didn't save your life because he would be lonely. He did it because he loves you. He felt like, by going to university, he failed you. He does everything that he does because he is your brother and he loves you. Everything you do for him you tell yourself it's because you owe him but it stopped being that a long time ago, you do it because you love him and because you want him to be happy."  _Maybe. Shut up._ "I'm right, aren't I?"

Sherlock hesitated. "Well, I've told you so now it's your turn."

John sighed. "Not today I need to go out."  _Avoiding it again._

"John we had a deal." John stood up and walked towards the door to unlock it.

"Yes and I will talk to you about it when I come back but I actually do have a job to turn up late for."

"Boring." Sherlock stood and walked into the kitchen.  _Time to check those cultures._

"See you after work, then we'll talk, okay?" Sherlock just grunted and poked his nose in the fridge as John moved the glass from the counter closer to the sink.  _You can shut that box now. Put it down and lock the door behind it. Never take it out again. Hmm. Might have to use it again later. Not looking forward to that._

As John left Sherlock's phone made a noise. He leaned out of the fridge to see it vibrate on the counter.  _Ignore it? Might be a case. Wouldn't text. Hmm._

Sherlock pulled the cultures out of the fridge and put them on the table beside the microscope before he stalked into the living room and swept the phone up.  _Two texts._

_You're an arse. – GL_

_Well, that's the thanks I get. Took you long enough._

_Thank you – M_

Sherlock swallowed and looked to the door when John ran back down the stairs and out the door while pulling his coat on having just thrown clothes on. He typed a quick reply that he knew he wouldn't get a reply to.

_It's what brothers are for – SH_


	13. Chapter 13

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock got a case that day and he became a class A idiot. He was out all day chasing after a murderer that when he got home it was three in the morning. He swept into the living room, which was in complete darkness with only the street light in the flat. As he swept passed the kitchen he missed it. He went into the toilet and when he came out he saw it. He stopped and took a step backwards before turning his head.  _The glass was still by the sink. Strange._  That's when he heard it.  _Sobbing._ He turned his head back and walked slowly into the living room.  _The glass wasn't the only thing he had walked passed._ He saw the outline of the figure sitting on the couch. He walked around the small coffee table closer to the window as the figured shook and sobbed.

"John?" He sat on the table and looked at the man in the darkness.  _He had his hands in front of him._  "John, what's wrong?" Sherlock leaned to the side of the couch and switched the lamp on and it came into sight.

John was holding a gun in his mouth. His fingers were white with the tightness of his grip on the firearm. He was shaking and sobbing with his eyes closed.

"John? Please-" Sherlock looked from the man to his finger on the trigger.  _If I try to grab it I could set it off._ "Please, take it out of your mouth. Just so that you can talk to me, okay? I know you can hear me… John, please?"

John took a sharp breath and continued sobbing.

"Please, just enough to answer me, I won't do anything, I promise you. I promise."  _I won't. I promise._ "Please trust me."

John opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock.

"I promise. See?" Sherlock put his hands up and shuffled a little away from John. "I won't."  _Still close enough, just in case._

John looked at the man for a second before he slowly pulled the gun out of his mouth at which point his jaw started to chatter. The gun was still pointed at John and all he had to do was move it back inside his mouth and Sherlock would be back to square one.  _Need to go slowly._

"Thank you. Now, try to steady your breathing, John. You know better than I that breathing like that just makes you feel worse so try to steady it for me. In and out, come on." John kept his mouth open to the barrel of the gun so Sherlock took breaths through his nose to demonstrate. "Do it with me now. In… Out." John paused before he slowly started to copy Sherlock. He was still crying but he was looking at Sherlock as his breathing started to shallow out.

"What has got you so upset?"  _Finger still on trigger. Still white with pressure. But listening to me. Good._

John stopped with difficulty, he took sharp breaths in between his words. "Can't. Do. It."

"Okay, keep breathing, John. You can't do what?"

John looked to the gun. He shifted his grip on it as if trying to reassure himself that he was holding it or that he was in control of his own hands. "Pull… the trigger. Why can't I do it?"  _No sharp intakes of breath. Calming down._

"What made you want to, John? You were fine when you left this morning?" Sherlock tried to look at the man but couldn't gleam much more than the obvious.  _Fixed eyes. Been crying for a long time. Still crying. Clenched jaw. Stiff back. Sitting for a long time. Too hot but hasn't tried to take off his jumper. Shock or despair?_

"I was thinking about what you told me and I went to see Harry. I'm never there for her and I thought I should be a better brother."  _Grip tightened. Guilt._ "And I got there… I couldn't believe the way she was living. It was horrible."

"What happened, what did she say?"  _Still too risky. Wait._

"She said that-that she didn't want to see me again. That she knew that I didn't love her and that she didn't want my help. She said that because I fought in the war I thought that everyday battles were nothing."  _Strange wording for a drunk. Thought about it a lot then, probably while sober too._

"John, listen to me. She's going through a rough time and you and I know as well as anyone how we push the people that care away. We don't know why we do it but it makes sense at the time, doesn't it? She wasn't there to help you but that doesn't mean that she didn't care or she was a bad sister, it just meant that she was going through things that made it hard to see very far. Like walking through fog. You can only see so far in front of you, yeah?"

John nodded and closed his eyes letting a tear fall. "Why can't I do it, Sherlock? I think about the amount of times I have pulled this trigger, any trigger and yet I just…" He shifted the gun in his hand baring his teeth with frustration. "I just can't do it."

"Alright." Sherlock put his hand on John's arm. "It's alright, John."

"Go on, tell me." John opened his eyes to look at the gun then at Sherlock again. His eyes full of tears. "Just say it."

"Because you don't want to die, John. You just want the memories to hurt less. It hurts so much that it feels like it's tearing through your very being but you don't want to die. You just want that to stop." Sherlock let his hand ghost slowly up John's arm towards his hand as he watched John's eyes.

"It hurts. It hurts so much, Sherlock."  _Grip loosening._

"I know. You know that I know that."

"Take it." Sherlock slowly took the gun from John. "Just take it."

Sherlock let out a breath as he took the clip out and lay them both on the table. He turned back to John who caught his head in his hands.  _I remember that feeling. Hitting rock bottom and knowing there was only one way out. But he couldn't do it. He's realising that he wants to live._ Sherlock put his hand on John's shoulder.

"It'll be okay, John."

"Why am I so weak? You were able to do it, why can't I? Why can't I be strong like you?" He sobbed as Sherlock moved to the couch and pulled the shell of a man against his chest.

"That doesn't make you weak, it makes you the strongest person I know. To get to the edge of the cliff and pull back is the hardest thing ever. Once you've reached that place in your mind when you've decided what you're going to do to then convince yourself that you can survive it and dig yourself out of this is the bravest thing I could ever think of."  _Braver than I was. Or ever could be._ After a second Sherlock tested the waters. "Braver than invading Iraq." John laughed into Sherlock's coat and shirt. _Oh, thank god._ Sherlock closed his eyes in relief.

"Afghanistan."

_I know._


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit of a case chapter. Well - they talk about a case, Sherlock does his thing, but no actual case-ness. Because that's not what this story is about.

**[Sherlock]**

"Okay, what's this big emergency that couldn't wait?" John got out of the taxi and put his wallet back in his back pocket.

"Case!" Was all that Sherlock said before he waltzed up the steps and in the doors of Scotland Yard. John huffed and followed him wondering if he could claim PTSD after shooting the detective.

>><<

John ran up the stairs after Sherlock to walk into the all too familiar room where they were met with the sight of Donovan and Anderson whispering. Sherlock stopped walking to watch until they caught sight of him and separated.  _Still at it then._

Donovan walked over to Sherlock. "For once I'm actually glad to see you, freak." She exhaled.

"Me? Why, are you ill?" Sherlock looked at her properly.  _Hair styled to its usual standard, make up, no bags under her eyes, usual style of clothing, and bruise on her right knee. Still not used to sleeping in Anderson's bed beside the wall then. Nothing out of the ordinary but she looks drained._

"No, he's just too happy." She shook her head and walked away.

_Who? Anderson?_

"Who's too happy?" John asked her but she just kept walking so he turned to look at Sherlock.

They didn't have to wait long.

"Sherlock, John! Come on, got a corker for ya!" Lestrade stood at his office door smiling at the pair when he gestured for them to come to his office and he disappeared inside.  _Uncharacteristically smiley for this time in the morning. That's who then._

John smiled a 'come on then' look at Sherlock and walked first. When they got to the door Greg was leaning against his desk instead of his usual 'arse down, feet up' stance.

"Right, you are going to love this one. Got a lad, eighteen years old found hanging from a tree in Victoria Tower Gardens but our guys say he was dead before he was strung up." He handed Sherlock photos.

"When was this?" Sherlock started to look through the photos.  _Athletic. Just above average height. T-shirt with a distinctive design. Joy Division. Jeans. Expensive, in good condition but old. Trainers relatively new. Hair just been cut but matted. Scrape on nose._ Next picture.  _Rope tied into a noose. Tight._ Next picture.  _Tree branch a little weak. Mark on tree truck._

"Friday. It was kicked to us when the guys downstairs ruled out suicide. He's originally from Scotland but moved here with his parents ten years ago."  _It wasn't raining on Friday._

Sherlock handed the photos to John. "And it took them that long?" Sherlock grunted.

Lestrade laughed and the other two men looked at him. "I knew you were going to say that, do you want to see his things or do you have everything?"

He dangled a transparent plastic bag at the detective before Sherlock reached out for it. He shoved it into John's hands who almost dropped it. He then held it open while trying not to drop the photographs. Sherlock began taking random things out of the bag and looking at them.

_Phone. Latest model, used but kept well. Screensaver is another logo for a band. 23 texts unread this morning. 146 read. 109 outbox. Personal labels, obvious nicknames, network provider and various companies. 5 missed calls this morning. 18 answered over the past two days. All at the weekend when the texts dwindle away. Wallet. Real leather, not that worn. Driving license, donor card, debit card, Starbucks card, no bus pass or rail card._

"The pathologist says he died between nine and ten on Friday night. We don't know why he would have been in the area at that time, his bike was found in his garage so we know he didn't take that but we haven't found his car either."

 _iPod. 5_ _th_ _generation. Good condition. Expensive headphones. Passcode broken by the techs, not difficult – probably took them all weekend. Lock screen and wallpaper more band logos. 64gb. 6,998 songs, 2,987 photos and 123 videos._ Sherlock put the phone back in the bag and looked up to John. _It wasn't long ago that I was doing this with your things._  His gaze lingered a moment and John shot him a look before he slowly handed Greg the bag back.

"So, what you got for me?"

Sherlock took the photos back from John and ignored the strange look he was still getting. "What is going on with you?" Sherlock turned back to Lestrade.

"What do you mean?"

"You're all…" Sherlock wrinkled his nose as if there was a nasty smell, " _happy_."

The man laughed. "Am I not allowed to be? And does that mean I'm usually a miserable bastard?" He chuckled to himself as he reached behind him to pick up his coffee on the desk.  _Hickey on the bottom of his neck. Ah._

"The boy was popular although he was quite happy to be on his own and didn't value himself by how many people liked him. He was hard-working and consequently had a lot of money but didn't waste it, liked swimming and partying. He was murdered elsewhere and moved there to throw you off. I bet you were thinking a protest against something going on at Westminster gone wrong. What is it this week, the vote on whether or not the Scots get a referendum? And suddenly there's a Scottish teenager hanged from a tree on their doorstep? Very sloppy cover up so chances are the murder was not premeditated."

The two men just looked at him waiting. Sherlock rolled his eyes.  _Not even going to try and use your brains then._ "His phone, it's full of texts during the week, a lot of texts, then there's phone calls at the weekend – that indicates that he works during the week and his mates want him to come out at the weekend. The fact that there are more received texts than outgoing and no outgoing calls says he's popular but also says that he wasn't desperate for company, he would have happily sat in his house over the weekend. His clothes are all expensive and relatively new, the same goes for his wallet, phone, headphones and iPod but they are also well looked after suggesting he cares about what he spends his hard earned cash on. That is backed up by his jeans, they're expensive and looked after but clearly older than the rest of his stuff, he could afford to throw these out but he's kept them and is continuing to wear them suggesting they are his favourites. So, he works often and hard and respects his things as well as his appearance. But then there is his hair."

"His hair?" Sherlock held up the picture of the kid hanging in reply to John before handing him it, Lestrade put his coffee back down and leaned over to the photo. John angled it to him and then they shared a look to which John shook his head - neither of them could see what he was talking about. Sherlock took out his phone.  _Find out where he was._

"Yes, his hair. You can tell from his build that he is athletic. But he is a person who does things because he _wants_ to not because someone tells him too. The band on his t-shirt and the rest on his devices are older and varied, especially if you look through his some six thousand songs, he has a passion for music and doesn't care what kind. So, besides music what is his passion that involves physical activity? Swimming."

"Swimming?" Sherlock shut his eyes.  _I really hate it when people do that. Not that place, it closed early._

"Yes Inspector, a kid who takes pride in his appearance would not go anywhere with his hair like that. It's not just a mess from being posed like this, the kinks in his hair show that it's dried like that so it was wet when he was strung up. And we all know it wasn't raining on Friday so where else would this kid get his hair wet. Swimming pool." _Found it._ Sherlock held out his phone. "The rest of the leisure places in the area are either closed or shut before the time of death but the Queen Mother Sports Centre on Vauxhall Bridge Road shuts at 10. I bet that you'll find his car in the car park."

"A swimming pool? Christ, that's the easiest place to clean up a crime scene." Lestrade stood up.

"Yes, but unless it was a member of staff there will be footage somewhere. You can't get a body nearly a mile away without someone noticing."

"Right, I'll go down there and find the scene-" Lestrade reached his left hand behind John for his coat and winced a little before he caught himself on the wall.

John put his hand out to catch him. "You alright, Greg?" 

"Yeah." He smiled as his cheeks began to redden.  _Embarrassed? Oh really._ "I'm fine."

"Better go with you, Inspector. No doubt it'll be staring you in the face and you'll miss it." Lestrade nodded and waited for them to leave first. Sherlock didn't move and put his hand out for Greg to go first. When he didn't move Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Inspector, tell my brother to go easy next time." Sherlock swept out of the office. John turned to Greg who tried and failed to suppress a smile. His face went even more red when John gave him a shocked smile in return. Sherlock called back to them. "Come on!" He stopped beside Sally's desk. "Got a crime scene. That'll get him out of your hair for a while." She looked to Sherlock shocked at his gesture and lack of a snide comment. He pointed to her knee. "Quite a nasty bruise." He looked to Anderson as he walked passed.

"What?" The man stopped to look between Sally and Sherlock as John and Greg appeared behind him.

"Nothing, I was just going to suggest pulling your bed a little away from the wall. Save poor Sally any future bruises." With that he swept away (with a smirk) and John followed him apologetically. Lestrade just huffed and hobbled after them.

"Wait a minute Sherlock, you said it wasn't premeditated?" Lestrade struggled to keep up.  _In more ways than one._

Sherlock stopped at the lift while John went for the doorway where he turned and the two men looked at Sherlock questioningly.

"John, there is no way that he could get down those." Sherlock glanced at the Inspector before turning back to the lift. "Yes. The noose wasn't practised, it must have been something the killer knew how to do but hasn't tried it over and over because there's a scrape on the victim's nose indicating that when the killer tied it and went to put it over his head it was a little too small so they forced it. A little like Mycroft seems to have done." Sherlock looked up to the floor number above the lift.

"Come on Sherlock, it's none of our business." John looked at his feet as he walked away from the door.

"I didn't say it was, I was just suggesting that you go easy next time."

"And why is that?" Greg put his hands on his hip.  _Irritated._

"Because if we end up chasing a killer, chances are they won't be limping and if you get shot because you can't perform to the best of your abilities then my brother would never forgive himself." Sherlock stepped into the lift as it opened.

John and Greg looked at each other shocked before they stepped into the lift and all three men looked in different directions as the lift reached the ground floor.

"Plus, I've kind of got used to you." Sherlock mumbled that and walked out leaving the two men standing in the shaft.  _Fast. He can't keep up._


	15. Chapter 15

**[Sherlock]**

"Well that was dull." Sherlock threw himself down on the couch.

"What? The best friend's girlfriend's cousin? Come on, that was a twist and a half." John walked passed the detective and into the kitchen.

"Maybe just a half."

"I have a question for you." John walked back into the room and threw an apple at Sherlock's stomach when he got no reply. Sherlock just froze.  _Did he just throw an apple at me? "_ And eat that as well. You haven't eaten in…" John let out a sigh. "God knows how long." Sherlock turned his head to look at the man with a challenging look. "Just eat it before you keel over."

Sherlock huffed and sat up before he took an exaggerated bite and smiled snidely at his flatmate. "So what is this question?"

"How did you know that Mycroft and Lestrade were together?"

Sherlock picked up John's surgical wrap and took out a scalpel before cutting into the apple. John made a noise of discontent.  _More like irritation but he wasn't going to let it pull him away from his question._  Sherlock stripped parts off of the apple and reluctantly put it in his mouth licking the juice from the scalpel.  _Drop it. Drop it and go sterilise this, please._

"Sherlock, you could stab yourself with that right now and it still wouldn't make me drop the question." He folded his arms and stayed exactly where he was standing.

"And you call yourself a doctor." _Just get this over with._ "What makes you think that I knew? Why couldn't Lestrade or Mycroft have told me?"

"Because people don't  _tell_  you things you just know. And, if Lestrade wouldn't even admit it to himself then he's hardly going to put it up on the notice board is he? Plus, I may not see as much as you but even I can see that Mycroft only comes to you when he's at a complete loose end. Not for any other reason than he can handle things for himself. So, how did you know they were together?" _That was pretty good. Considering. Well, I suppose that deserves the truth._

"I didn't. I didn't know that they were together because…" Sherlock took a breath. "Because they weren't."

"What do you mean?" John shook his head slightly in that way that he did when something made absolutely no sense to him.

"I knew that my brother had been spending more time with someone because he had started texting a lot more – Mycroft doesn't text when he can call – and there's not a lot that means he can't call during work but he was even texting when he was out of work, too much to just be an everyday something, such as the dentist. Lestrade had been thrown out before by his wife for affairs, I could tell that he was obviously trying to prove to himself that he wasn't gay. The night before I first met you she threw him out for the last time."

"How do you know that it was the last time?"

"He was wearing clothes that weren't his but that still fitted him. They weren't his usual style meaning that he would rather have borrowed clothes that fitted him than ones that didn't but were more his style because normal people would less likely to notice and inquire about it. He had his wedding ring on but if he wasn't bothered by what people could have said then he would worn his usual style regardless of fit and removed the band."

"So you guessed?"

Sherlock let out a small exhale of a laugh and smiled gently. "Yes, yes I guessed." He looked to the window for a second.  _Am I really that transparent?_  "I concluded that with the way that Lestrade regards my deductions, he usually believes them almost right away… sometimes. Anyway I thought that if I pointed out to him that this was obviously the last time then he'd be more likely to accept that the life that he was living wasn't who he was. I could tell the minute I saw him – from his clothes, his level of hygiene in the morning and a breakfast stain on his clothes – that he had been with someone he didn't want anyone else to know about, so it had to be male. Everybody already knew about him, why they cared I've no idea, but he didn't want anyone to know, and why  _he_  cared I don't know either. I knew that Mycroft would never say anything to Greg because he knew that he hadn't accepted it yet and I knew that Lestrade would be more likely to do just that if he had someone that he cared about more than whatever anxiety he felt. And everyone knows that Greg wouldn't know an attraction, never mind one from a man, if it hit him in the face so…" Sherlock let out a sigh as his sentence ended there and he popped a bit of apple in his mouth.

John smiled a little. "So, you set them up?"

Sherlock dug the scalpel deeper into the apple. "I just pointed out the obvious to Lestrade. If he then asked Mycroft about it and something developed from there then I wouldn't-"

"You set them up!" John let out a quiet, non-mocking laugh.

Sherlock paused his movements but continued to look at the apple. "If you want to phrase it like that."

John laughed and walked away towards the bathroom.

Sherlock looked up. "What? Why are you laughing?" He stood up and walked to where John had been standing to watch him walk into the bathroom and close the door. "John?" He walked to the door and heard his roommate still laughing. "I'm not finishing this apple!" Sherlock licked the scalpel and walked away.


	16. Chapter 16

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock had had a dream. Sherlock never dreamt. Not really, it was more memories replaying over and over in his head. Happier times. Times with his mother playing games, research and practice. Then there was when Mycroft and he used to play together; when they were younger Mycroft would carry Sherlock on his back and run around while Sherlock relayed orders. Mycroft would hoist Sherlock until he could grab onto a branch and disappear into the foliage of the biggest tree on their land then Mycroft would follow him. When they got older playing together was the musical kind; their duets would travel through the house for hours a day.

Then their father died and Mycroft changed. He took a frostier stance, he didn't have as much time for his brother while he planned his future. Sherlock understood; it really hit Mycroft hard when he lost their father but Sherlock still had their mother. That's not to say that Mycroft didn't have her too but he had really identified with their father in a way that Sherlock never could and vice versa could be applied to Sherlock and their mother. As John had said; Mycroft thought on more of a macro level, as did their father, whereas Sherlock and their mother thought on more of a micro level. When their mother died, Sherlock finally understood how Mycroft must have felt - everything fell apart around him. And when the Holmes brothers should have banded together and ruled the word they broke apart and forgot what it was like to play from the same song sheet.

Instead there was just the sound of a solo violin playing into the night too far away to hear the lone piano echoing around the university campus.

But this was not one of those dreams, this was very different. The dream started with Sherlock running and shouting.  _Where am I?_ There were gunshots everywhere as he scrambled for cover. _I'm in a war-zone._ Sherlock looked at the men around him. _Camouflage and guns._ Sherlock looked down at his own hands.  _I'm holding a gun… I'm a soldier._ Sherlock looked up as a man ran past him and everything slowed down.  _That's John._

He followed his roommate with his eyes as he pushed a man to the side and into the trench. As he did so he followed him.

 _'Where's Paulie?'_ John shouted at the man.

'He's stuck behind the blockade up there.' Then John looked to where he had just been stood. The man protested when he realised what John was going to do.  _He's going to make a run for it._ John pulled himself away from the man and ran, he ran and ran and Sherlock followed him. ' _John, no!'_

John turned to look at Sherlock and just smiled. ' _It's okay, I have a debt to pay.'_ Sherlock watched as the man John had been searching for started to run and then he looked to see the gunman come out of nowhere.

He didn't shout to warn him his friend. He ran and ran and ran as his jaw tightened and he bared his teeth. He jumped as Paulie reached the trench and the bullet hit John in the shoulder instead of slicing into Paulie's back as it should have. He spun around with the force of the bullet but the unnamed kid who had tried to stop him stood up and ran past Paulie who had no idea what John had just done until he turned to watch the kid aim his gun and shoot the gunman before he could take another shot at John. Paulie ran and scooped up John while the unnamed soldier covered them as they backed into the trench. Sherlock stood there looking at John facing him as Paulie threw the medic over his shoulder. There was pain, there was fear but, most of all, there was disappointment.

Sherlock woke with a start.  _Disappointment. I_   _understand now._ He pushed the covers back and bounded up. He got to the stairs. _Those three previous attempts, including the one which led to our first meeting; the pills, the gun and jumping in front of the bus, weren't John's first attempts at suicide. His heroic act was._  His dream may have been Sherlock's subconscious' guess at how it happened but the end result was the same. The thing that had been staring Sherlock in the face. _John wasn't trying to escape what he had done, he hated the word 'hero' because his act of saving that man's life had been a suicide mission. And he felt selfish because he was hailed as a war hero._

Sherlock ran up the stairs but stopped at the door.  _He feels like he needs to be punished, like he owes a debt to Moriarty. A debt of his life._

He could hear a noise coming from inside John's bedroom, he pressed his ear to the door.  _Mumbling. Crying. Heavy breathing._ Sherlock didn't bother knocking. He slowly, quietly and cautiously opened the door.

John was lying in his bed, struggling as if he was strapped to the thing by his wrists and ankles. Sherlock moved to the end of the bed to look at him. The light from the window highlighted the sweat that poured from every inch of him. His capped sleeved t-shirt was soaked through and the covers had moved to his waist. His mumbles were incoherent and Sherlock wasn't sure if he was actually saying anything or if they were just moans.

Sherlock turned and went back down the stairs to the bathroom where he retrieved a flannel and held it under the cold tap before he took to the stairs again. He walked just as slowly into the room as he had done the first time. He sat on the bed as lightly as he could and moved to put the cloth on the man's forehead when the man's eyes shot open.  _Glazed over. Not actually awake. Oh dear._

The man grabbed Sherlock's arms and threw the detective to the floor with a thud as he straddled his hips, used his left hand to hold Sherlock's right to the floor and held his other arm across the intruder's neck, in much the same way he had done when he had pushed Sherlock up against the wall in frustration the first night in the flat.

"I'm sorry, John, it's me!" Sherlock put his left hand on John's upper arm and could feel the heat radiating from him. "John wake up, it's me, it's Sherlock."  _The floor was harder than it looked._

The frost dissolved from John's eyes as he woke up properly. He looked down at the man lying underneath him and sighed. "You really need to start announcing yourself." He stayed like that for a second as his breathing shallowed. "What are you doing in my room in the middle of the night?"

"You were having a nightmare, I was just trying to help."

"Help? Help how? And why is your hand so cold?"  _From touching the damp cloth._ Sherlock took his left hand off of John's right upper arm and pointed to his other hand as he wiggled it under John's grip.

"Damp cloth. You were sweating so I brought it up for you." John looked at Sherlock's hand and loosened his grip. The two of them looked at each other for a second before they burst out laughing. "Would you consider maybe, I don't know, getting off me?" Sherlock smirked as John realised he was still straddling his roommate. "Or do you do this to everyone?"

John rocked back on his heels to stand up and held out his hand to Sherlock. "Just the ones who creep into my room in the middle of the night." He pulled Sherlock up and put his hand out for the cloth. Sherlock toyed with giving him it and leaving it there.  _No, he needs to talk about this instead of avoiding me like he always does._

"Come on." Sherlock headed for the door, holding onto the cloth. "It's just gone five in the morning, why don't we have tea and talk." He left the room before John could disagree.  _He won't go back to sleep because he knows I won't let this drop._

>><<

John sat at the table with his tea and Sherlock ran the cloth under the tap. He knew that John was probably back to normal in terms of temperature but that it would offer him some relief until he went for a shower.  _Also it might give him something to focus on while I ask him awkward and uncomfortable questions._ Sherlock handed John the flannel across the table and John folded it up before rubbing his neck with it.

"So, what did you want to talk about so urgently that it couldn't wait until morning?" 

 _I_ _t is morning._ "I had a dream."

John smiled a little. "Well, dreams are a perfectly normal thing to have."

"I know."

"Trust me, I'm a doctor." John rubbed his face with the cloth but his smile stayed put.

Sherlock sighed at John's amusement and mockery. "I had a dream about you."

John just paused and hesitated to speak. "Right, well as flattered as I am Sherlock I only straddled you because you startled me."

 _Oh for goodness sake._ "No. I had a dream about the day you saved that young solider." John moved to get up and Sherlock ran to the door before he locked it and turned back to John. "Two can play that game, John."

John just sighed and looked away.  _Trying to think of other ways to avoid this. Ignorance. Violence. Bathroom._

"If you ignore me I will start with the 'Captain, shit' as you call it, we've already established that the most you will do is shove me up against a wall or, indeed, on the floor then get annoyed with yourself for not being able to hit me and I could jimmy the bathroom lock in 30 seconds during which time I will continue talking through the door. Stop avoiding me, John. We need to talk about this."

He looked back to Sherlock and then sat down dumping the flannel on the table. "Fine. Say what you have to say."

"Tell me about it." Sherlock pocketed the key knowing that John's own was in his room while he walked back around the table to settle against the counter with his tea in hand. He never drank it but it seemed to make John comfortable when he spoke.

"What's to tell? I took a bullet and still managed to survive. That's it." 

 _Not relief. Regret._ "Why do you say that like it's a bad thing? That you 'still managed to survive'?"

"Because I shouldn't have."

"Why not?" John sighed and looked at his tea. "Tell me what happened, John."

John looked up at the pocket where Sherlock had put his key before he looked to Sherlock's face.  _Is he actually considering taking it by force?_ Sherlock tilted his head and gave John his 'we both know how this is going to end' look and John seemed to agree.

"Fine. We were trying to take an area well known to be territory of a Taliban splinter cell."  _Not following the main Taliban mission, working on their own steam but with Taliban backing. Basically well-equipped anarchists using the name._  "They had been attacking local towns and schools so we were sent in to take them out and possibly scare any other splinter cells in the area. Six of us took the perimeter to go in and check the compound but we were spotted. There was twenty-four of us in total and by the time we had any idea what was happening there was about ten left." John rubbed his stubble while he looked at the table. Sherlock wondered if John could see the whole scene playing out on the tabletop as if from a bird's eye view.  _A safe distance._  "There was Paulie and I left from the original group of us that flew out. Rico was taken out by a roadside bomb a week before. I was behind an overturned burnt out car when I saw Darrell, he was just standing there. Even as I looked at him I saw Jim's face. He was so young, just flown over and so fresh faced. He had been the butt of a few jokes in the unit since his arrival but he took them in his stride. I made sure that I knew his name, when he joined us, that was the first question I asked him." John swallowed as emotion swelled in his voice, his eyes glistened in the early morning light.

Sherlock had turned the light under the kitchen cabinet off when he had finished making the tea.  _Less focus on him as he takes me through one of the most traumatic experiences of his life._   _I don't want to put too much pressure on him. Not after the last time._ Sherlock closed his eyes as he saw John lying half off his bed when he found him there. Bottle on the floor.  _Much like Mycroft found me._

"Sherlock?" Sherlock opened his eyes to see John staring at him. "You alright?"

"Yeah sorry, I was trying to imagine it all."  _Liar. Shut up._

"I watched him and it was like everything slowed down. Like a dream."  _Tell me about it._ "I saw him and I saw the gunman circle the crate he was leaning against but Darrell didn't see him. I knew he had nowhere to go even if I shouted on him so I ran and I ran and I ran-" John stopped and pushed his tongue against his top teeth to the right side as he put pressure on his philtrum with his right index finger.

"John, look at me." John took a second before he blinked to look at Sherlock and a tear ran down his cheek. "It's all over now. It's okay, you can tell me."

"I know." He took a breath. "I only had my handgun left so a shot from that distance with the amount of protective clothing the shooter was wearing was too much of a long shot. I needed to hit him in the head and for that I needed to get closer so I ran to him. I threw myself down on Darrell as I took the shot. As I pulled the trigger so did he. We both hit on target. He fell down with a bullet lodged in his brain and I fell with one lodged in my shoulder instead of in Darrell's chest. I started to lose blood and I remember people shouting my name. The rest of the team crowded round and assumed a protective stance until air support came and they could get me out."

He shifted.  _Guilt. Why?_

"And you feel guilty, why?"

"Because I didn't think it would hit me in the shoulder, if I had been a second faster it would have hit me in the chest and then we would have been even. And why only when  _I_  was shot did they surround and protect, what was so special about me that wasn't about Darrell or Jim?"

Sherlock took a breath. "John, you have nothing to feel guilty about. Things overwhelmed your unit both times and Jim did what he felt was necessary, like I said, to get as many people out of that situation as possible. You don't owe Jim your life, John. He did what he did so that you could live not so that you could wish it away. That day was your first attempt, you know that, don't you?"

"First attempt?" John shifted slightly.  _Shoulder._

"You have been trying to commit suicide since that day, John. You were ready for that bullet to hit you in your chest and take your life because you think that you should be dead. When you came back you shut everyone out, I thought it was that you wanted to be left alone with your guilt over everything but I was wrong; you didn't want anyone to find you. You pushed everyone away so that when you finally did it then no one would assume a protective barrier and get you out of there. You did it so that everyone would be in the truck when you ran into the line of fire, just like Jim." John moved his left hand slowly below the bunker but it was too late. Sherlock had already seen it.  _Tremor._ "When you came back you figured that the only thing you were good at was waving a gun around so you put one in your mouth but you just couldn't pull the trigger. Because you were sick of pulling the trigger."

By now John's eyes were full of tears, memories and despair as he tried not to look at Sherlock.

"When that didn't work you thought you'd turn to the one thing that you knew before the war – medicine – you got supplies and you sat for hours staring at them but you couldn't do that either. You had spent all of your professional life learning about what these things did to people, in their minds and bodies, whether you succeeded or failed the results were just too much. So, you finally decided that the only way to do it was to make sure the act itself was out of your hands. How long did you stand in that particular street, John?" He took a step towards the table to look at John better in the light, as much as morning was approaching it was still hard to completely see him, harder than a proper light would have been. "Tell me."

"Three hours." The words barely came out as John struggled to part his jaw. He let his head fall into his right hand and Sherlock saw tears fall onto the table.

"Three hours, watching rush hour come and go - not that rush hour ever  _really_  goes in London - watching the people and the traffic before you finally took your chance. You offered yourself to death but Molly foiled that. Then you met me."

"Yes, I did." John forced his head back up. "Technically I went through with that last one." He let out a little laugh that wasn't a laugh at all it was an act of disbelief at his 'luck'.

"And since I have met you your feelings and thought processes have been reversed."

John looked up at Sherlock with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you started off with trying to get shot, then you tried the gun, tried to take pills then you jumped in front of the bus. We met and you took pills then tried the gun. Reversal of actions implies a reversal of thought processes and conclusions."

"Next, I just have to find a way to get shot." He smiled at Sherlock wearily, ignoring the images that flashed in his brain of people shooting at the pair as they worked together on their cases. Ignoring how they ducked and ran out of the line of fire.

Sherlock put his cup down and almost thumped the table in frustration. He motioned his arm to do so as John watched him but then he just turned on the spot with a grunt to hold on to the bunker. "You don't see, do you? I couldn't see either. I really couldn't. I was completely blind to it until Mycroft helped me see."

"What?"

"The effect that your death would have on the people you leave behind." John walked around the table to look at Sherlock as he stood beside him, craning his neck to see him. He reached forward and turned the light under the kitchen cabinet on again. "When I did what I did, I never imagined, not really, that it would devastate my brother. I was so wrapped up in how my mother had left me and how he had left too that I never stopped to think that our parents had left him just as much and I was all he had left. I was so wrapped up in my own things that I never saw his pain." Sherlock turned to look at John. "When I woke up in hospital, I saw it. I opened my eyes to see him asleep on one of those god awful plastic chairs, he had his coat over him as a cover and his right leg crossed over him to balance. His face was so pasty, bags under his eyes, his clothes were at least two days old, there was a bag in the corner of the room full of sandwich wrappers with the hospital shop logo on them. Later, I found out that the sandwiches were used in the wards too so he hadn't gone down the stairs for food, the nurses had brought them to him. He hadn't left that room for longer than a cigarette, walking right past the shop on his way there and back, for nearly three days. I looked at him lying there and I suddenly realised that if I had died I would have left him all alone. I couldn't do that."

"You can't live your life for other people." John countered.

"No, I know. But it gave me a reason to live until I found other ones. And… that is why I had to do something when I met you, John. I had to because I know that there are people in the here and now that would crumble if you died."  _Me. Your sister. To name a few._  John raised his eyebrows, not in surprise but in disregard."But there are also so many reasons for you to live just waiting in the future to be found. I just want you to be here long enough to find them, like I did."

John thought for a second. "Sherlock, no one would crumble if I died. I have no friends by design and my sister wants nothing to do with me. Besides, my death might just give her more reason to drink, not that she needs it." He looked down and put his hand out to Sherlock for the key. "I understand what you've said but that's you, that's not me. Life doesn't always work like that." He emphasised his hand with a little shake. Sherlock hesitantly put the key in John's hand but didn't let it go.

"John-"  _I would crumble. I don't know why but I would._

"Sherlock, I have a shower to have and work to go to. I did what you asked, I talked and I listened." He just looked at Sherlock without faltering _._ Sherlock let go of the key. "Thank you." John walked away then stopped before turning back. "I'm sorry, Mr Holmes,"  _Mr Holmes? Distancing._ "It doesn't matter what I do or think, what you say or do. Jim Moriarty is alive in my mind, he eeks the life from me every day because no one should have died that day. I should have died when I jumped in front of Darrell and then I feel awful because as much as I see Jim's face every day I realised that if I had died then I would have haunted Darrell like Jim is haunting me now. I tell myself sometimes, maybe I can just get on with it and one day I'll be happy and then I hear Moriarty in my ear and he says 'oh, just kill yourself, it's a lot less effort, go on, for me' and I just feel heavy again. You assume that I'm lonely but I'm not. I carry him every day and I'm tired. I… I'm sorry."

"Stop feeling guilty for things that you don't need to apologise for, Doctor."  _Distancing._ John left and bounded up the stairs.

Sherlock picked up his violin and thought about it.  _Might be no other way._  John came back down the stairs with a towel over his shoulder.

"Thing is, I've got a debt to pay and I'll pay it eventually." Sherlock turned to face him but John looked down a little before he continued into the bathroom and shut the door.  _I've got a debt to pay._ Sherlock flashed back to his dream and John's kamikaze mission.

He then put his violin down.  _Don't need it. That's decided it._

He picked up his phone and found her number.

_Need your help – SH_

He waited for a reply while he found his brother's number as well.

_I need your help but you can't tell Lestrade – SH_

Molly first. 

_What with? – MH_

Then Mycroft. 

_Depends what it is Sherlock. – M_

Sherlock walked into his room to change and as he walked out he put his coat on. John came out of the shower.

"Going out, got a case?" He smiled as if nothing had happened as he rubbed his hair with a towel.

"A case? No…"  _Think of something._ "Mycroft needs advice again but can't leave the Diogenes Club."

"Oh right." John disappeared up to his room and Sherlock trotted down the stairs to the front door.

Sherlock typed the text to send to both contacts before he stepped out onto the doorstep and closed the door behind him.

_Saving John Watson's life, once and for all – SH_

Sherlock pressed send, turned up his coat collar and left 221 Baker Street.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is rather a short one, I'm afraid but I will be loading the next chapter tomorrow so not too long to wait. Hang in there!

**[Sherlock]**

A few days later he had caught a case. John hadn't been sleeping any better and he wasn't the only one. Sherlock rarely slept very much during a case anyway but it wasn't the triple homicide that was keeping him up.

_The milk carton was on the counter. That was important. Why? Why?_

Sherlock couldn't think straight because he was caught up in another problem. It was tomorrow and Sherlock was struggling to find some way to avoid it. But he knew there wasn't one. He would just have to consider every possible eventuality. He sat in his armchair with his back against one arm rest and his legs over the other squeezing a little ball.  _John said if I bounced it one more time he would make it disappear somewhere unpleasant._ Sherlock stopped squeezing for a second. He could hear the familiar sounds of anguished moaning and muffled screams coming from upstairs.  _Well at least he's alive._

Sherlock's phone beeped.

_Are you sure about this? – M_

_I see no alternative, do you? – SH_

_No, I had hoped that you would have. – M_

_You haven't told Lestrade? – SH_

_No, I want it known that I'm not happy about that, it's going to cause problems that I don't know if we can come back from. – M_

_There is no other way, you know as well as I that he can't lie and he'll understand. He might be a little angry but he'll understand. – SH_

_I hope so, Sherlock. But will John? – M_

_Doubtful but what else can I do? – SH_

There was no reply to that and Sherlock took a breath before sending another one.

_Are you happy? – SH_

_I would say, very much so. Why do you ask? – M_

_That's good, I'm glad. And I'm sorry about this. – SH_

_Like you say, can't be helped. – M_

Sherlock brought his phone to press the top against his lip.


	18. Chapter 18

**[Sherlock]**

Tomorrow had come.

Sherlock was running down the stairs from his flat when Mrs Hudson appeared in the doorway. "Oh, hello love. You going out?"

"Yes, the hospital." He fixed his coat collar and thought about the sweet woman who does everything for the two men.  _Even though she's not our housekeeper._

"How is John, is he at work?"

Sherlock turned. "Yes and he's... getting there." He walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek.

"What was that for?" She smiled up at the man who had helped her escape her perilous marriage.

"Do I need a reason?" He smiled and made to leave. "Now if you'll excuse me, Mrs Hudson. I have a debt to pay."

He took deep a breath before he stepped forward, pulling the door closed behind him and went to call out for a taxi.  _No. I need the walk._  He started walking towards the hospital weaving in and out of the people on the streets, deducing them as he did so.

_Alcoholic. Drug dealer. Compulsive cheat. Ex-soldier._

Sherlock turned to look at the woman as she continued to walk away completely unaware of being watched.

 _Why is it that she walks along, so happy and getting on with her life perfectly aware that people love her and yet…_ Sherlock turned back and kept walking.

_In the short few months that I have known John Watson, captain and doctor, he has restrained me four times. Once in Scotland Yard, twice in the living room and once in his bedroom- Oh, he's right, I do need to work on how I word things. Either way, I have no idea how I have come to enjoy having him around. I identify with him as a man, a professional man, a sibling, someone with a troubled past and lack of self-worth. The only difference is that I am a few stages ahead of him and I need a way to bring him forward. At first I couldn't walk away knowing that I could save a life. Now, I can't walk away knowing that I can save John Watson's life. My roommate, my-_

Sherlock got a text as he stood on the opposite side of the road to the hospital.

_Any luck on the case? – GL_

_So, Mycroft still hasn't told him._  Sherlock took a sigh before he typed a response and walked into the hospital.  _I really wish there was another way._

_He posed as a work man of some kind. The milk was out beside the kettle as if someone was making tea or coffee but none of the family used milk, all black coffee - you can tell from the stains inside all of the mugs - and all the bodies were nowhere near the kitchen. That's all I have. Sorry. – SH_

The last word had nothing to do with the case, Sherlock knew that Lestrade would be surprised by it but attribute it to the previous statement. Nevertheless it had to be said.

Sherlock walked along the corridor and caught Molly's eye. She smiled at him reassuringly and he smiled back.  _I could always trust and count on Molly. And so could John._ Sherlock made his way to the roof.

>><<

**[John]**

Across town John was feeling awful about everything that had been said and his restless night hadn't helped. He had been dreaming but not his usual dreams. His usual dreams were a mixture of Jim Moriarty and Darrell Moran. The man who saved his life and the life he saved.

But this time all he could see was Sherlock down by the pond, alone, scared and helpless. Such a different picture from the man he knew, the man he lived with, the man who had saved his life more than once and in more ways than just taking him to hospital and talking the gun out of his hand. John stood and walked out of his room to Sarah in the waiting room.

"Listen, I feel like hell. Do you think that I could knock off a little early?" He leaned on the reception counter smiling at her.

She gave John a look of concern. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes."  _No. I feel like Sherlock lying by that tree, scared, helpless and alone. Well, maybe not alone. I feel worthless and guilty._ "Everything's fine. I just had a bad night's sleep, or  _lack_  of it."

"You do look a bit peaky. Alright, off you go, I can take the last three."

"Thanks Sarah, you're a lifesaver."  _Ironic._  John went into his office, grabbed his coat and headed for home.  _Hopefully he will be out on a case. Maybe then…_

John left the surgery and caught a taxi home feeling a little worse for wear as the same image he had dreamed of flashed across his mind for a hundredth time that day.

>><<

He closed the front door behind him as Mrs Hudson opened her door.

"You're home early, love. You alright?"

"Yeah, just a bit tired. Didn't sleep much last night." He smiled at her and started to walk up the stairs.

"Sherlock's not in." She straightened a vase on the little table by the stairs.

 _Good._ "Right, off on the case is he?"  _Hopefully._ John took the stairs slowly.  _Don't want her making a fuss about his wanting to be alone. She was sweet like that._

"I assume so, he said he was off to the hospital but I never understand half of the things he says. Looked a bit ill as well, maybe you're both coming down with something."

"Maybe."  _He looked fine yesterday, a little quiet but healthy._  "What was it he said that you didn't understand?" John turned to look at Mrs Hudson.

"Oh something and nothing, you know." John smiled and turned to take the last step up the half flight of stairs. "He said he had a debt to pay, I didn't know he had borrowed any money."

John froze.  _A debt to pay?_ He turned and walked back down the stairs. "What?"

Mrs Hudson looked up at John. "What's wrong, love?"

He took her gently by the arms. "What were his exact words, Mrs Hudson? Please, it's important."

"I asked if he was going out and he said to the hospital. Then I asked about you and he said that you were getting there, are you?" She searched John's face.

"Mrs Hudson, please. What did he say?"

"He kissed me on the cheek, said he didn't have a reason for that then he said 'excuse me, I have a debt to pay' before he just left. Why, is something wrong, dear?"

John didn't answer. He ran out the door, inadvertently slamming it behind him. "Taxi!" A cab pulled up almost immediately and he clambered in. "Bart's, please."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are back to the italics being Sherlock's thoughts here but at one point I will put an "*" when it changes to John so that I don't take away from the story to put it in. Sorry about the back and forth.

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock takes one tearful breath as he steps up onto the ledge.  _Well, this takes me back. Never thought that I'd be standing on a roof thinking about doing this again. Not after everything tha-_ Sherlock sees the taxi pull up and John climbed out of it.  _He's not at work, he should be at work._ Sherlock fumbles for his phone and hits 'call' before raising the handset to his right ear.  _We planned for this but he should still be at work._

John clambers out of the taxi and fumbles for his own phone as he trots towards the hospital. "Hello?"

"John."

"Sherlock, you alright?"

"Turn around and walk back the way you came now."  _Or better still, be at work and not witness this._

"No, I'm coming in."

Sherlock tries his hardest to get the words out without sounding frantic which is exactly what he is. "Just do as I ask. Please."

John hears the panic in the man's voice and turns back the way he came while looking around him confused. "Where?"

Sherlock waits until he reaches the right spot. "Stop there." He does. "Okay, look up. I'm up on the roof."

John turns and sees Sherlock standing there, his face flushes with horror. "Oh, god."

Sherlock can't hold back his tears however much he tries.  _I never cry. Why am I crying?_ "I… I… I can't come back down so we'll… we will just have to do it this way."  _Go back to work! Go back!_

"What's going on?" His anxiety is obvious through the phone but his face is even worse.  _He can't believe it. He knows and he won't believe it._

"I owe you an apology, John. I tried I really did. I thought that after everything I could help you let go of Moriarty but I realise now that this was beyond anything that I could handle. I've failed you. I failed my parents, Mycroft, Greg, Mrs Hudson, Molly and you. It's what I've always done."

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time I met you you knew everything about me, about Greg, you knew everything, even things that no one else knew. I'm alive because of you, Mycroft and Greg are ridiculously happy because of you."

_Maybe not for much longer._

"You think that you're a failure but you just make everything better, even with everything else, Sherlock, I don't regret meeting you, I consider you my friend."

"Really?"  _You won't in five minutes._

"Really, I have never told anyone about Jim and Darrell before. Not even my therapist."  _Really?_

"I've never told anyone about my… experience before, except the bare facts to Lestrade."

"Oh well, see? That means you owe me and you can't-" John choked a little. "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you, I have failed everyone. This is the only way, John, that you will understand."

"Understand what?"

"What it's like to be left behind." A tear runs down to Sherlock's chin and falls off.

"No, stop this now." John starts to walk towards the hospital.

"No, stay exactly where you are."

John backs up with his free hand in the air. "Alright."

"I'm sorry John, just keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?" He unconsciously reaches his left hand to his friend as he speaks.

"Do what?"

"This phone call… it's my note. It's what you never did, leave a note. Because you're right, I do owe you."

John shakes his head as the realness of the situation begins to flood him, he momentarily moves the handset away from his ear before replacing it. "What do you owe me?"

"A debt. Goodbye, John."

John shakes his head. "No, don't."

Sherlock keeps John's gaze for a second before tossing his phone behind him.

John watches in horror as he lowers his own phone. "No. SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock spreads his arms at either side and allows himself to fall forward off of the edge of the building and hurtle towards the ground.

 ***** "Sher-" Is all that John can get out as the body impacts on the ground. John's ears begin to ring as he tries to get to Sherlock.  _Have to get to Sherlock. No._  He runs to the corner of the building that had obstructed his view, he stops in the middle of the road with his first view of Sherlock's body lying on the pavement.

As he goes to move forward a cyclist slams into John and sends him spinning to the ground where he hits his head, much like the first time.  _No. I need to get to Sherlock. My friend. I will not pass out this time. I am not a prisoner of war._  John groans as he pushes away the darkness that wants to take him, he rolls over with difficulty as Sherlock's body comes back into view. A couple of medics from the hospital have rushed over and stop passersby getting too close.  _Sherlock._ John hauls himself up onto his feet and stumbles towards the body as onlookers gather.

"Sherlock…" John's voice is a slurred whisper as his injury tries to claim him. He reaches the crowd and tries to push his way through as others try to stop him.  _Can't be dead._ "I'm a doctor, let me through, please. He's my friend…" John reaches down to take Sherlock's lifeless wrist. Someone breaks John's grasp but it's too late.  _No. No pulse… No._ Nonetheless he reaches for Sherlock again as people arrive and put Sherlock on a stretcher. "Please…"  _My knees won't… My head…_

John slumps to the floor as his injury eventually begins to vibrate through him. As people support him the two medics roll Sherlock onto his back and all John can see is blood and lifeless eyes.

John can't help but groan at the sight. He already feels sick.  _The fall and his fall. The blood._ "Jesus, no." He tries to stand again.  _Foolishly._ But his legs just won't support him. He watches as the stretcher disappears.

After a few seconds he finally manages to clamber to his feet with some help. He stares in the direction that the stretcher went and hears himself calling out a few moments before.

_SHERLOCK…_

>><<

John sat in 221B by himself. Dressed but barefoot and crossed legged on his armchair staring at the one across from him as the silent flat surrounded him in a way it never has before. He looked down at the gun he held in his right hand before he burst into tears.

Greg, Mycroft, Molly and Mrs Hudson stood in the doorway unsure of what to do. John knew that they were there, he held the gun out to the side for Greg to take. Greg took a quick step forward and received the gun from him. Mrs Hudson rushed to John and knelt down beside him. Greg and Mycroft shared a look of worry and despair for the already broken man.

"This was my fault." Greg opened his mouth to protest. "He told me he was doing it so that I would know what it was like to be left behind. I never meant for him to-" John turned his head to Mycroft. "I'm so sorry, Mycroft. I never meant for him to do this. I didn't." Mycroft didn't give John a forced smile like he would usually he just tipped his head up a little in recognition as the man stood to look at the group and Mrs Hudson remained where she was.  _A little gesture that he's picked up from Greg._

"John," Mycroft stepped towards the man, "my brother might have done this to help you but do not think yourself responsible for his death too. He would never have done this if he thought that you would consider this your fault. It seems that the two of you shared the same trait, even to his end, that you both could never see just how much you meant to people. No matter how much he tried." Mycroft's eyes drifted to the table where his brother's violin was lying, Greg put his hand on Mycroft's shoulder and something crossed the older Holmes's face.  _Guilt._

"It's not your fault, Mycroft." John looked to Greg who didn't understand because he couldn't see his partner's face. "You saved his life in a hundred ways. What he did… I don't understand it but you've no need to feel guilty. Whatever happened wasn't your fault."

Mycroft looked to Greg for a second then back to John. "It may not be my fault, as it's not yours, but that doesn't stop me feeling guilt, John." With that Mycroft turned and left. John nodded to Greg and Molly who also left.  _Molly didn't said a word as she stood with tears running down her cheek. She blames me._

Mrs Hudson mumbled something to him and left but he barely caught it.


	20. Chapter 20

**[John]**

John and Mrs Hudson had gone to Sherlock's grave. They stood there holding onto each other like the parent and partner that Sherlock was without. Mrs Hudson made her excuses to leave John alone for a minute.

"I'll wait in the car." She touched his arm one last time before she cautiously walked back to the church.

John turned to make sure that she was far enough away before he looked at the headstone again. 'Sherlock Holmes' is all that it says. That's all that it needs to say. And even that is too much.

"You told me once that I didn't owe my life to Jim or to Darrell but I think what you meant was that I didn't owe my death. Because now, I owe my life to you. You said that I needed an excuse to wait around for reasons to live and now I have one. You knew-" John felt his throat shrink to a pin-hole but he carried on. "You knew that after this there would be no way that I would do... that. So, now I just have to wait for those reasons you spoke of to find me. I wish that you were one of them. I wish that you weren't a reason in my past but in my future. But, I wouldn't have a future if it wasn't for you."

John blew out a long breath, almost whimpering. He took a look over his shoulder again before he stepped forward and touched his fingertips to the top of the headstone. "I was one of the dying among the living and now... I owe you so much." He took another breath. "Okay." John turned to walk away but changed his mind and turned back.

"I just don't understand why, after everything, you would do that to Mycroft and t-to, to... to me. I just wish you hadn't done this, I wish I hadn't said to you that life didn't always work that way and I wish I had just nodded and let you talk me into it. You were good at doing that, 'give me half an hour' you said. It took you all of two minutes." John looked at his left hand. "It hasn't shaken since you-" He looked down and swallowed.

"I will never understand this but... I owe you Sherlock Holmes and, if you'll excuse me, I have a debt to pay." As John paused for a second to look at the headstone he looked at his reflection. 'Sherlock Holmes' seems to be engraved on his chest.  _And you always will be._ John had stifled the emotion he could feel building in his throat but for a second he let go and one tear rolled down his cheek. _Quite right too._ He then stood to attention and saluted the headstone before dismissing himself and turning sharply on one foot and marching away.

In the distance, by a tree stood a man that John didn't see. His face was red with emotion as tears roll down it and his mouth was pursed together. It was as if this man was afraid that if he allowed it to open he would call after the other man. The emotion on his face was a mixture of relief, pain and regret. He closed his eyes as the last tear fell, he slowly and gently wiped them away before he turned up his coat collar and looked at his phone.

_What are you going to do now? - M_

The man thought about it for a moment before he replied.

_I'm going to play dead - SH_

Then the man was gone.


End file.
